And thou, O matron of immortal fame,\nHere dying, to the shore hast left thy name;\nCajeta still the place is call'd from thee,\nThe nurse of great Aeneas' infancy.\nHere rest thy bones in rich Hesperia's plains;\nThy name ('t is all a ghost can have) remains.<\/p>\n
Now, when the prince her fun'ral rites had paid,\nHe plow'd the Tyrrhene seas with sails display'd.\nFrom land a gentle breeze arose by night,\nSerenely shone the stars, the moon was bright,\nAnd the sea trembled with her silver light.\nNow near the shelves of Circe's shores they run,\n(Circe the rich, the daughter of the Sun,)\nA dang'rous coast: the goddess wastes her days\nIn joyous songs; the rocks resound her lays:\nIn spinning, or the loom, she spends the night,\nAnd cedar brands supply her father's light.\nFrom hence were heard, rebellowing to the main,\nThe roars of lions that refuse the chain,\nThe grunts of bristled boars, and groans of bears,\nAnd herds of howling wolves that stun the sailors' ears.\nThese from their caverns, at the close of night,\nFill the sad isle with horror and affright.\nDarkling they mourn their fate, whom Circe's pow'r,\n(That watch'd the moon and planetary hour,)\nWith words and wicked herbs from humankind\nHad alter'd, and in brutal shapes confin'd.\nWhich monsters lest the Trojans' pious host\nShould bear, or touch upon th' inchanted coast,\nPropitious Neptune steer'd their course by night\nWith rising gales that sped their happy flight.\nSupplied with these, they skim the sounding shore,\nAnd hear the swelling surges vainly roar.\nNow, when the rosy morn began to rise,\nAnd wav'd her saffron streamer thro' the skies;\nWhen Thetis blush'd in purple not her own,\nAnd from her face the breathing winds were blown,\nA sudden silence sate upon the sea,\nAnd sweeping oars, with struggling, urge their way.\nThe Trojan, from the main, beheld a wood,\nWhich thick with shades and a brown horror stood:\nBetwixt the trees the Tiber took his course,\nWith whirlpools dimpled; and with downward force,\nThat drove the sand along, he took his way,\nAnd roll'd his yellow billows to the sea.\nAbout him, and above, and round the wood,\nThe birds that haunt the borders of his flood,\nThat bath'd within, or basked upon his side,\nTo tuneful songs their narrow throats applied.\nThe captain gives command; the joyful train\nGlide thro' the gloomy shade, and leave the main.<\/p>\n
Now, Erato, thy poet's mind inspire,\nAnd fill his soul with thy celestial fire!\nRelate what Latium was; her ancient kings;\nDeclare the past and state of things,\nWhen first the Trojan fleet Ausonia sought,\nAnd how the rivals lov'd, and how they fought.\nThese are my theme, and how the war began,\nAnd how concluded by the godlike man:\nFor I shall sing of battles, blood, and rage,\nWhich princes and their people did engage;\nAnd haughty souls, that, mov'd with mutual hate,\nIn fighting fields pursued and found their fate;\nThat rous'd the Tyrrhene realm with loud alarms,\nAnd peaceful Italy involv'd in arms.\nA larger scene of action is display'd;\nAnd, rising hence, a greater work is weigh'd.<\/p>\n
Latinus, old and mild, had long possess'd\nThe Latin scepter, and his people blest:\nHis father Faunus; a Laurentian dame\nHis mother; fair Marica was her name.\nBut Faunus came from Picus: Picus drew\nHis birth from Saturn, if records be true.\nThus King Latinus, in the third degree,\nHad Saturn author of his family.\nBut this old peaceful prince, as Heav'n decreed,\nWas blest with no male issue to succeed:\nHis sons in blooming youth were snatch'd by fate;\nOne only daughter heir'd the royal state.\nFir'd with her love, and with ambition led,\nThe neighb'ring princes court her nuptial bed.\nAmong the crowd, but far above the rest,\nYoung Turnus to the beauteous maid address'd.\nTurnus, for high descent and graceful mien,\nWas first, and favor'd by the Latian queen;\nWith him she strove to join Lavinia's hand,\nBut dire portents the purpos'd match withstand.<\/p>\n
Deep in the palace, of long growth, there stood\nA laurel's trunk, a venerable wood;\nWhere rites divine were paid; whose holy hair\nWas kept and cut with superstitious care.\nThis plant Latinus, when his town he wall'd,\nThen found, and from the tree Laurentum call'd;\nAnd last, in honor of his new abode,\nHe vow'd the laurel to the laurel's god.\nIt happen'd once (a boding prodigy!)\nA swarm of bees, that cut the liquid sky,\n(Unknown from whence they took their airy flight,)\nUpon the topmost branch in clouds alight;\nThere with their clasping feet together clung,\nAnd a long cluster from the laurel hung.\nAn ancient augur prophesied from hence:\n\"Behold on Latian shores a foreign prince!\nFrom the same parts of heav'n his navy stands,\nTo the same parts on earth; his army lands;\nThe town he conquers, and the tow'r commands.\"<\/p>\n
Yet more, when fair Lavinia fed the fire\nBefore the gods, and stood beside her sire,\n(Strange to relate!) the flames, involv'd in smoke\nOf incense, from the sacred altar broke,\nCaught her dishevel'd hair and rich attire;\nHer crown and jewels crackled in the fire:\nFrom thence the fuming trail began to spread\nAnd lambent glories danc'd about her head.\nThis new portent the seer with wonder views,\nThen pausing, thus his prophecy renews:\n\"The nymph, who scatters flaming fires around,\nShall shine with honor, shall herself be crown'd;\nBut, caus'd by her irrevocable fate,\nWar shall the country waste, and change the state.\"<\/p>\n
Latinus, frighted with this dire ostent,\nFor counsel to his father Faunus went,\nAnd sought the shades renown'd for prophecy\nWhich near Albunea's sulph'rous fountain lie.\nTo these the Latian and the Sabine land\nFly, when distress'd, and thence relief demand.\nThe priest on skins of off'rings takes his ease,\nAnd nightly visions in his slumber sees;\nA swarm of thin aerial shapes appears,\nAnd, flutt'ring round his temples, deafs his ears:\nThese he consults, the future fates to know,\nFrom pow'rs above, and from the fiends below.\nHere, for the gods' advice, Latinus flies,\nOff'ring a hundred sheep for sacrifice:\nTheir woolly fleeces, as the rites requir'd,\nHe laid beneath him, and to rest retir'd.\nNo sooner were his eyes in slumber bound,\nWhen, from above, a more than mortal sound\nInvades his ears; and thus the vision spoke:\n\"Seek not, my seed, in Latian bands to yoke\nOur fair Lavinia, nor the gods provoke.\nA foreign son upon thy shore descends,\nWhose martial fame from pole to pole extends.\nHis race, in arms and arts of peace renown'd,\nNot Latium shall contain, nor Europe bound:\n'T is theirs whate'er the sun surveys around.\"\nThese answers, in the silent night receiv'd,\nThe king himself divulg'd, the land believ'd:\nThe fame thro' all the neighb'ring nations flew,\nWhen now the Trojan navy was in view.<\/p>\n
Beneath a shady tree, the hero spread\nHis table on the turf, with cakes of bread;\nAnd, with his chiefs, on forest fruits he fed.\nThey sate; and, (not without the god's command,)\nTheir homely fare dispatch'd, the hungry band\nInvade their trenchers next, and soon devour,\nTo mend the scanty meal, their cakes of flour.\nAscanius this observ'd, and smiling said:\n\"See, we devour the plates on which we fed.\"\nThe speech had omen, that the Trojan race\nShould find repose, and this the time and place.\nAeneas took the word, and thus replies,\nConfessing fate with wonder in his eyes:\n\"All hail, O earth! all hail, my household gods!\nBehold the destin'd place of your abodes!\nFor thus Anchises prophesied of old,\nAnd this our fatal place of rest foretold:\n'When, on a foreign shore, instead of meat,\nBy famine forc'd, your trenchers you shall eat,\nThen ease your weary Trojans will attend,\nAnd the long labors of your voyage end.\nRemember on that happy coast to build,\nAnd with a trench inclose the fruitful field.'\nThis was that famine, this the fatal place\nWhich ends the wand'ring of our exil'd race.\nThen, on to-morrow's dawn, your care employ,\nTo search the land, and where the cities lie,\nAnd what the men; but give this day to joy.\nNow pour to Jove; and, after Jove is blest,\nCall great Anchises to the genial feast:\nCrown high the goblets with a cheerful draught;\nEnjoy the present hour; adjourn the future thought.\"<\/p>\n
Thus having said, the hero bound his brows\nWith leafy branches, then perform'd his vows;\nAdoring first the genius of the place,\nThen Earth, the mother of the heav'nly race,\nThe nymphs, and native godheads yet unknown,\nAnd Night, and all the stars that gild her sable throne,\nAnd ancient Cybel, and Idaean Jove,\nAnd last his sire below, and mother queen above.\nThen heav'n's high monarch thunder'd thrice aloud,\nAnd thrice he shook aloft a golden cloud.\nSoon thro' the joyful camp a rumor flew,\nThe time was come their city to renew.\nThen ev'ry brow with cheerful green is crown'd,\nThe feasts are doubled, and the bowls go round.<\/p>\n
When next the rosy morn disclos'd the day,\nThe scouts to sev'ral parts divide their way,\nTo learn the natives' names, their towns explore,\nThe coasts and trendings of the crooked shore:\nHere Tiber flows, and here Numicus stands;\nHere warlike Latins hold the happy lands.\nThe pious chief, who sought by peaceful ways\nTo found his empire, and his town to raise,\nA hundred youths from all his train selects,\nAnd to the Latian court their course directs,\n(The spacious palace where their prince resides,)\nAnd all their heads with wreaths of olive hides.\nThey go commission'd to require a peace,\nAnd carry presents to procure access.\nThus while they speed their pace, the prince designs\nHis new-elected seat, and draws the lines.\nThe Trojans round the place a rampire cast,\nAnd palisades about the trenches plac'd.<\/p>\n
Meantime the train, proceeding on their way,\nFrom far the town and lofty tow'rs survey;\nAt length approach the walls. Without the gate,\nThey see the boys and Latian youth debate\nThe martial prizes on the dusty plain:\nSome drive the cars, and some the coursers rein;\nSome bend the stubborn bow for victory,\nAnd some with darts their active sinews try.\nA posting messenger, dispatch'd from hence,\nOf this fair troop advis'd their aged prince,\nThat foreign men of mighty stature came;\nUncouth their habit, and unknown their name.\nThe king ordains their entrance, and ascends\nHis regal seat, surrounded by his friends.<\/p>\n
The palace built by Picus, vast and proud,\nSupported by a hundred pillars stood,\nAnd round incompass'd with a rising wood.\nThe pile o'erlook'd the town, and drew the sight;\nSurpris'd at once with reverence and delight.\nThere kings receiv'd the marks of sov'reign pow'r;\nIn state the monarchs march'd; the lictors bore\nTheir awful axes and the rods before.\nHere the tribunal stood, the house of pray'r,\nAnd here the sacred senators repair;\nAll at large tables, in long order set,\nA ram their off'ring, and a ram their meat.\nAbove the portal, carv'd in cedar wood,\nPlac'd in their ranks, their godlike grandsires stood;\nOld Saturn, with his crooked scythe, on high;\nAnd Italus, that led the colony;\nAnd ancient Janus, with his double face,\nAnd bunch of keys, the porter of the place.\nThere good Sabinus, planter of the vines,\nOn a short pruning hook his head reclines,\nAnd studiously surveys his gen'rous wines;\nThen warlike kings, who for their country fought,\nAnd honorable wounds from battle brought.\nAround the posts hung helmets, darts, and spears,\nAnd captive chariots, axes, shields, and bars,\nAnd broken beaks of ships, the trophies of their wars.\nAbove the rest, as chief of all the band,\nWas Picus plac'd, a buckler in his hand;\nHis other wav'd a long divining wand.\nGirt in his Gabin gown the hero sate,\nYet could not with his art avoid his fate:\nFor Circe long had lov'd the youth in vain,\nTill love, refus'd, converted to disdain:\nThen, mixing pow'rful herbs, with magic art,\nShe chang'd his form, who could not change his heart;\nConstrain'd him in a bird, and made him fly,\nWith party-color'd plumes, a chatt'ring pie.<\/p>\n
In this high temple, on a chair of state,\nThe seat of audience, old Latinus sate;\nThen gave admission to the Trojan train;\nAnd thus with pleasing accents he began:\n\"Tell me, ye Trojans, for that name you own,\nNor is your course upon our coasts unknown-\nSay what you seek, and whither were you bound:\nWere you by stress of weather cast aground?\n(Such dangers as on seas are often seen,\nAnd oft befall to miserable men,)\nOr come, your shipping in our ports to lay,\nSpent and disabled in so long a way?\nSay what you want: the Latians you shall find\nNot forc'd to goodness, but by will inclin'd;\nFor, since the time of Saturn's holy reign,\nHis hospitable customs we retain.\nI call to mind (but time the tale has worn)\nTh' Arunci told, that Dardanus, tho' born\nOn Latian plains, yet sought the Phrygian shore,\nAnd Samothracia, Samos call'd before.\nFrom Tuscan Coritum he claim'd his birth;\nBut after, when exempt from mortal earth,\nFrom thence ascended to his kindred skies,\nA god, and, as a god, augments their sacrifice,\"<\/p>\n
He said. Ilioneus made this reply:\n\"O king, of Faunus' royal family!\nNor wintry winds to Latium forc'd our way,\nNor did the stars our wand'ring course betray.\nWilling we sought your shores; and, hither bound,\nThe port, so long desir'd, at length we found;\nFrom our sweet homes and ancient realms expell'd;\nGreat as the greatest that the sun beheld.\nThe god began our line, who rules above;\nAnd, as our race, our king descends from Jove:\nAnd hither are we come, by his command,\nTo crave admission in your happy land.\nHow dire a tempest, from Mycenae pour'd,\nOur plains, our temples, and our town devour'd;\nWhat was the waste of war, what fierce alarms\nShook Asia's crown with European arms;\nEv'n such have heard, if any such there be,\nWhose earth is bounded by the frozen sea;\nAnd such as, born beneath the burning sky\nAnd sultry sun, betwixt the tropics lie.\nFrom that dire deluge, thro' the wat'ry waste,\nSuch length of years, such various perils past,\nAt last escap'd, to Latium we repair,\nTo beg what you without your want may spare:\nThe common water, and the common air;\nSheds which ourselves will build, and mean abodes,\nFit to receive and serve our banish'd gods.\nNor our admission shall your realm disgrace,\nNor length of time our gratitude efface.\nBesides, what endless honor you shall gain,\nTo save and shelter Troy's unhappy train!\nNow, by my sov'reign, and his fate, I swear,\nRenown'd for faith in peace, for force in war;\nOft our alliance other lands desir'd,\nAnd, what we seek of you, of us requir'd.\nDespite not then, that in our hands we bear\nThese holy boughs, sue with words of pray'r.\nFate and the gods, by their supreme command,\nHave doom'd our ships to seek the Latian land.\nTo these abodes our fleet Apollo sends;\nHere Dardanus was born, and hither tends;\nWhere Tuscan Tiber rolls with rapid force,\nAnd where Numicus opes his holy source.\nBesides, our prince presents, with his request,\nSome small remains of what his sire possess'd.\nThis golden charger, snatch'd from burning Troy,\nAnchises did in sacrifice employ;\nThis royal robe and this tiara wore\nOld Priam, and this golden scepter bore\nIn full assemblies, and in solemn games;\nThese purple vests were weav'd by Dardan dames.\"<\/p>\n
Thus while he spoke, Latinus roll'd around\nHis eyes, and fix'd a while upon the ground.\nIntent he seem'd, and anxious in his breast;\nNot by the scepter mov'd, or kingly vest,\nBut pond'ring future things of wondrous weight;\nSuccession, empire, and his daughter's fate.\nOn these he mus'd within his thoughtful mind,\nAnd then revolv'd what Faunus had divin'd.\nThis was the foreign prince, by fate decreed\nTo share his scepter, and Lavinia's bed;\nThis was the race that sure portents foreshew\nTo sway the world, and land and sea subdue.\nAt length he rais'd his cheerful head, and spoke:\n\"The pow'rs,\" said he, \"the pow'rs we both invoke,\nTo you, and yours, and mine, propitious be,\nAnd firm our purpose with their augury!\nHave what you ask; your presents I receive;\nLand, where and when you please, with ample leave;\nPartake and use my kingdom as your own;\nAll shall be yours, while I command the crown:\nAnd, if my wish'd alliance please your king,\nTell him he should not send the peace, but bring.\nThen let him not a friend's embraces fear;\nThe peace is made when I behold him here.\nBesides this answer, tell my royal guest,\nI add to his commands my own request:\nOne only daughter heirs my crown and state,\nWhom not our oracles, nor Heav'n, nor fate,\nNor frequent prodigies, permit to join\nWith any native of th' Ausonian line.\nA foreign son-in-law shall come from far\n(Such is our doom), a chief renown'd in war,\nWhose race shall bear aloft the Latian name,\nAnd thro' the conquer'd world diffuse our fame.\nHimself to be the man the fates require,\nI firmly judge, and, what I judge, desire.\"<\/p>\n
He said, and then on each bestow'd a steed.\nThree hundred horses, in high stables fed,\nStood ready, shining all, and smoothly dress'd:\nOf these he chose the fairest and the best,\nTo mount the Trojan troop. At his command\nThe steeds caparison'd with purple stand,\nWith golden trappings, glorious to behold,\nAnd champ betwixt their teeth the foaming gold.\nThen to his absent guest the king decreed\nA pair of coursers born of heav'nly breed,\nWho from their nostrils breath'd ethereal fire;\nWhom Circe stole from her celestial sire,\nBy substituting mares produc'd on earth,\nWhose wombs conceiv'd a more than mortal birth.\nThese draw the chariot which Latinus sends,\nAnd the rich present to the prince commends.\nSublime on stately steeds the Trojans borne,\nTo their expecting lord with peace return.<\/p>\n
But jealous Juno, from Pachynus' height,\nAs she from Argos took her airy flight,\nBeheld with envious eyes this hateful sight.\nShe saw the Trojan and his joyful train\nDescend upon the shore, desert the main,\nDesign a town, and, with unhop'd success,\nTh' embassadors return with promis'd peace.\nThen, pierc'd with pain, she shook her haughty head,\nSigh'd from her inward soul, and thus she said:\n\"O hated offspring of my Phrygian foes!\nO fates of Troy, which Juno's fates oppose!\nCould they not fall unpitied on the plain,\nBut slain revive, and, taken, scape again?\nWhen execrable Troy in ashes lay,\nThro' fires and swords and seas they forc'd their way.\nThen vanquish'd Juno must in vain contend,\nHer rage disarm'd, her empire at an end.\nBreathless and tir'd, is all my fury spent?\nOr does my glutted spleen at length relent?\nAs if 't were little from their town to chase,\nI thro' the seas pursued their exil'd race;\nIngag'd the heav'ns, oppos'd the stormy main;\nBut billows roar'd, and tempests rag'd in vain.\nWhat have my Scyllas and my Syrtes done,\nWhen these they overpass, and those they shun?\nOn Tiber's shores they land, secure of fate,\nTriumphant o'er the storms and Juno's hate.\nMars could in mutual blood the Centaurs bathe,\nAnd Jove himself gave way to Cynthia's wrath,\nWho sent the tusky boar to Calydon;\n(What great offense had either people done?)\nBut I, the consort of the Thunderer,\nHave wag'd a long and unsuccessful war,\nWith various arts and arms in vain have toil'd,\nAnd by a mortal man at length am foil'd.\nIf native pow'r prevail not, shall I doubt\nTo seek for needful succor from without?\nIf Jove and Heav'n my just desires deny,\nHell shall the pow'r of Heav'n and Jove supply.\nGrant that the Fates have firm'd, by their decree,\nThe Trojan race to reign in Italy;\nAt least I can defer the nuptial day,\nAnd with protracted wars the peace delay:\nWith blood the dear alliance shall be bought,\nAnd both the people near destruction brought;\nSo shall the son-in-law and father join,\nWith ruin, war, and waste of either line.\nO fatal maid, thy marriage is endow'd\nWith Phrygian, Latian, and Rutulian blood!\nBellona leads thee to thy lover's hand;\nAnother queen brings forth another brand,\nTo burn with foreign fires another land!\nA second Paris, diff'ring but in name,\nShall fire his country with a second flame.\"<\/p>\n
Thus having said, she sinks beneath the ground,\nWith furious haste, and shoots the Stygian sound,\nTo rouse Alecto from th' infernal seat\nOf her dire sisters, and their dark retreat.\nThis Fury, fit for her intent, she chose;\nOne who delights in wars and human woes.\nEv'n Pluto hates his own misshapen race;\nHer sister Furies fly her hideous face;\nSo frightful are the forms the monster takes,\nSo fierce the hissings of her speckled snakes.\nHer Juno finds, and thus inflames her spite:\n\"O virgin daughter of eternal Night,\nGive me this once thy labor, to sustain\nMy right, and execute my just disdain.\nLet not the Trojans, with a feign'd pretense\nOf proffer'd peace, delude the Latian prince.\nExpel from Italy that odious name,\nAnd let not Juno suffer in her fame.\n'T is thine to ruin realms, o'erturn a state,\nBetwixt the dearest friends to raise debate,\nAnd kindle kindred blood to mutual hate.\nThy hand o'er towns the fun'ral torch displays,\nAnd forms a thousand ills ten thousand ways.\nNow shake, out thy fruitful breast, the seeds\nOf envy, discord, and of cruel deeds:\nConfound the peace establish'd, and prepare\nTheir souls to hatred, and their hands to war.\"<\/p>\n
Smear'd as she was with black Gorgonian blood,\nThe Fury sprang above the Stygian flood;\nAnd on her wicker wings, sublime thro' night,\nShe to the Latian palace took her flight:\nThere sought the queen's apartment, stood before\nThe peaceful threshold, and besieg'd the door.\nRestless Amata lay, her swelling breast\nFir'd with disdain for Turnus dispossess'd,\nAnd the new nuptials of the Trojan guest.\nFrom her black bloody locks the Fury shakes\nHer darling plague, the fav'rite of her snakes;\nWith her full force she threw the poisonous dart,\nAnd fix'd it deep within Amata's heart,\nThat, thus envenom'd, she might kindle rage,\nAnd sacrifice to strife her house husband's age.\nUnseen, unfelt, the fiery serpent skims\nBetwixt her linen and her naked limbs;\nHis baleful breath inspiring, as he glides,\nNow like a chain around her neck he rides,\nNow like a fillet to her head repairs,\nAnd with his circling volumes folds her hairs.\nAt first the silent venom slid with ease,\nAnd seiz'd her cooler senses by degrees;\nThen, ere th' infected mass was fir'd too far,\nIn plaintive accents she began the war,\nAnd thus bespoke her husband: \"Shall,\" she said,\n\"A wand'ring prince enjoy Lavinia's bed?\nIf nature plead not in a parent's heart,\nPity my tears, and pity her desert.\nI know, my dearest lord, the time will come,\nYou in vain, reverse your cruel doom;\nThe faithless pirate soon will set to sea,\nAnd bear the royal virgin far away!\nA guest like him, a Trojan guest before,\nIn shew of friendship sought the Spartan shore,\nAnd ravish'd Helen from her husband bore.\nThink on a king's inviolable word;\nAnd think on Turnus, her once plighted lord:\nTo this false foreigner you give your throne,\nAnd wrong a friend, a kinsman, and a son.\nResume your ancient care; and, if the god\nYour sire, and you, resolve on foreign blood,\nKnow all are foreign, in a larger sense,\nNot born your subjects, or deriv'd from hence.\nThen, if the line of Turnus you retrace,\nHe springs from Inachus of Argive race.\"<\/p>\n
But when she saw her reasons idly spent,\nAnd could not move him from his fix'd intent,\nShe flew to rage; for now the snake possess'd\nHer vital parts, and poison'd all her breast;\nShe raves, she runs with a distracted pace,\nAnd fills with horrid howls the public place.\nAnd, as young striplings whip the top for sport,\nOn the smooth pavement of an empty court;\nThe wooden engine flies and whirls about,\nAdmir'd, with clamors, of the beardless rout;\nThey lash aloud; each other they provoke,\nAnd lend their little souls at ev'ry stroke:\nThus fares the queen; and thus her fury blows\nAmidst the crowd, and kindles as she goes.\nNor yet content, she strains her malice more,\nAnd adds new ills to those contriv'd before:\nShe flies the town, and, mixing with a throng\nOf madding matrons, bears the bride along,\nWand'ring thro' woods and wilds, and devious ways,\nAnd with these arts the Trojan match delays.\nShe feign'd the rites of Bacchus; cried aloud,\nAnd to the buxom god the virgin vow'd.\n\"Evoe! O Bacchus!\" thus began the song;\nAnd \"Evoe!\" answer'd all the female throng.\n\"O virgin! worthy thee alone!\" she cried;\n\"O worthy thee alone!\" the crew replied.\n\"For thee she feeds her hair, she leads thy dance,\nAnd with thy winding ivy wreathes her lance.\"\nLike fury seiz'd the rest; the progress known,\nAll seek the mountains, and forsake the town:\nAll, clad in skins of beasts, the jav'lin bear,\nGive to the wanton winds their flowing hair,\nAnd shrieks and shoutings rend the suff'ring air.\nThe queen herself, inspir'd with rage divine,\nShook high above her head a flaming pine;\nThen roll'd her haggard eyes around the throng,\nAnd sung, in Turnus' name, the nuptial song:\n\"Io, ye Latian dames! if any here\nHold your unhappy queen, Amata, dear;\nIf there be here,\" she said, \"who dare maintain\nMy right, nor think the name of mother vain;\nUnbind your fillets, loose your flowing hair,\nAnd orgies and nocturnal rites prepare.\"<\/p>\n
Amata's breast the Fury thus invades,\nAnd fires with rage, amid the sylvan shades;\nThen, when she found her venom spread so far,\nThe royal house embroil'd in civil war,\nRais'd on her dusky wings, she cleaves the skies,\nAnd seeks the palace where young Turnus lies.\nHis town, as fame reports, was built of old\nBy Danae, pregnant with almighty gold,\nWho fled her father's rage, and, with a train\nOf following Argives, thro' the stormy main,\nDriv'n by the southern blasts, was fated here to reign.\n'T was Ardua once; now Ardea's name it bears;\nOnce a fair city, now consum'd with years.\nHere, in his lofty palace, Turnus lay,\nBetwixt the confines of the night and day,\nSecure in sleep. The Fury laid aside\nHer looks and limbs, and with new methods tried\nThe foulness of th' infernal form to hide.\nPropp'd on a staff, she takes a trembling mien:\nHer face is furrow'd, and her front obscene;\nDeep-dinted wrinkles on her cheek she draws;\nSunk are her eyes, and toothless are her jaws;\nHer hoary hair with holy fillets bound,\nHer temples with an olive wreath are crown'd.\nOld Chalybe, who kept the sacred fane\nOf Juno, now she seem'd, and thus began,\nAppearing in a dream, to rouse the careless man:\n\"Shall Turnus then such endless toil sustain\nIn fighting fields, and conquer towns in vain?\nWin, for a Trojan head to wear the prize,\nUsurp thy crown, enjoy thy victories?\nThe bride and scepter which thy blood has bought,\nThe king transfers; and foreign heirs are sought.\nGo now, deluded man, and seek again\nNew toils, new dangers, on the dusty plain.\nRepel the Tuscan foes; their city seize;\nProtect the Latians in luxurious ease.\nThis dream all-pow'rful Juno sends; I bear\nHer mighty mandates, and her words you hear.\nHaste; arm your Ardeans; issue to the plain;\nWith fate to friend, assault the Trojan train:\nTheir thoughtless chiefs, their painted ships, that lie\nIn Tiber's mouth, with fire and sword destroy.\nThe Latian king, unless he shall submit,\nOwn his old promise, and his new forget-\nLet him, in arms, the pow'r of Turnus prove,\nAnd learn to fear whom he disdains to love.\nFor such is Heav'n's command.\" The youthful prince\nWith scorn replied, and made this bold defense:\n\"You tell me, mother, what I knew before:\nThe Phrygian fleet is landed on the shore.\nI neither fear nor will provoke the war;\nMy fate is Juno's most peculiar care.\nBut time has made you dote, and vainly tell\nOf arms imagin'd in your lonely cell.\nGo; be the temple and the gods your care;\nPermit to men the thought of peace and war.\"<\/p>\n
These haughty words Alecto's rage provoke,\nAnd frighted Turnus trembled as she spoke.\nHer eyes grow stiffen'd, and with sulphur burn;\nHer hideous looks and hellish form return;\nHer curling snakes with hissings fill the place,\nAnd open all the furies of her face:\nThen, darting fire from her malignant eyes,\nShe cast him backward as he strove to rise,\nAnd, ling'ring, sought to frame some new replies.\nHigh on her head she rears two twisted snakes,\nHer chains she rattles, and her whip she shakes;\nAnd, churning bloody foam, thus loudly speaks:\n\"Behold whom time has made to dote, and tell\nOf arms imagin'd in her lonely cell!\nBehold the Fates' infernal minister!\nWar, death, destruction, in my hand I bear.\"<\/p>\n
Thus having said, her smold'ring torch, impress'd\nWith her full force, she plung'd into his breast.\nAghast he wak'd; and, starting from his bed,\nCold sweat, in clammy drops, his limbs o'erspread.\n\"Arms! arms!\" he cries: \"my sword and shield prepare!\"\nHe breathes defiance, blood, and mortal war.\nSo, when with crackling flames a caldron fries,\nThe bubbling waters from the bottom rise:\nAbove the brims they force their fiery way;\nBlack vapors climb aloft, and cloud the day.<\/p>\n
The peace polluted thus, a chosen band\nHe first commissions to the Latian land,\nIn threat'ning embassy; then rais'd the rest,\nTo meet in arms th' intruding Trojan guest,\nTo force the foes from the Lavinian shore,\nAnd Italy's indanger'd peace restore.\nHimself alone an equal match he boasts,\nTo fight the Phrygian and Ausonian hosts.\nThe gods invok'd, the Rutuli prepare\nTheir arms, and warn each other to the war.\nHis beauty these, and those his blooming age,\nThe rest his house and his own fame ingage.<\/p>\n
While Turnus urges thus his enterprise,\nThe Stygian Fury to the Trojans flies;\nNew frauds invents, and takes a steepy stand,\nWhich overlooks the vale with wide command;\nWhere fair Ascanius and his youthful train,\nWith horns and hounds, a hunting match ordain,\nAnd pitch their toils around the shady plain.\nThe Fury fires the pack; they snuff, they vent,\nAnd feed their hungry nostrils with the scent.\n'Twas of a well-grown stag, whose antlers rise\nHigh o'er his front; his beams invade the skies.\nFrom this light cause th' infernal maid prepares\nThe country churls to mischief, hate, and wars.<\/p>\n
The stately beast the two Tyrrhidae bred,\nSnatch'd from his dams, and the tame youngling fed.\nTheir father Tyrrheus did his fodder bring,\nTyrrheus, chief ranger to the Latian king:\nTheir sister Silvia cherish'd with her care\nThe little wanton, and did wreaths prepare\nTo hang his budding horns, with ribbons tied\nHis tender neck, and comb'd his silken hide,\nAnd bathed his body. Patient of command\nIn time he grew, and, growing us'd to hand,\nHe waited at his master's board for food;\nThen sought his salvage kindred in the wood,\nWhere grazing all the day, at night he came\nTo his known lodgings, and his country dame.<\/p>\n
This household beast, that us'd the woodland grounds,\nWas view'd at first by the young hero's hounds,\nAs down the stream he swam, to seek retreat\nIn the cool waters, and to quench his heat.\nAscanius young, and eager of his game,\nSoon bent his bow, uncertain in his aim;\nBut the dire fiend the fatal arrow guides,\nWhich pierc'd his bowels thro' his panting sides.\nThe bleeding creature issues from the floods,\nPossess'd with fear, and seeks his known abodes,\nHis old familiar hearth and household gods.\nHe falls; he fills the house with heavy groans,\nImplores their pity, and his pain bemoans.\nYoung Silvia beats her breast, and cries aloud\nFor succor from the clownish neighborhood:\nThe churls assemble; for the fiend, who lay\nIn the close woody covert, urg'd their way.\nOne with a brand yet burning from the flame,\nArm'd with a knotty club another came:\nWhate'er they catch or find, without their care,\nTheir fury makes an instrument of war.\nTyrrheus, the foster father of the beast,\nThen clench'd a hatchet in his horny fist,\nBut held his hand from the descending stroke,\nAnd left his wedge within the cloven oak,\nTo whet their courage and their rage provoke.\nAnd now the goddess, exercis'd in ill,\nWho watch'd an hour to work her impious will,\nAscends the roof, and to her crooked horn,\nSuch as was then by Latian shepherds borne,\nAdds all her breath: the rocks and woods around,\nAnd mountains, tremble at th' infernal sound.\nThe sacred lake of Trivia from afar,\nThe Veline fountains, and sulphureous Nar,\nShake at the baleful blast, the signal of the war.\nYoung mothers wildly stare, with fear possess'd,\nAnd strain their helpless infants to their breast.<\/p>\n
The clowns, a boist'rous, rude, ungovern'd crew,\nWith furious haste to the loud summons flew.\nThe pow'rs of Troy, then issuing on the plain,\nWith fresh recruits their youthful chief sustain:\nNot theirs a raw and unexperienc'd train,\nBut a firm body of embattled men.\nAt first, while fortune favor'd neither side,\nThe fight with clubs and burning brands was tried;\nBut now, both parties reinforc'd, the fields\nAre bright with flaming swords and brazen shields.\nA shining harvest either host displays,\nAnd shoots against the sun with equal rays.\nThus, when a black-brow'd gust begins to rise,\nWhite foam at first on the curl'd ocean fries;\nThen roars the main, the billows mount the skies;\nTill, by the fury of the storm full blown,\nThe muddy bottom o'er the clouds is thrown.\nFirst Almon falls, old Tyrrheus' eldest care,\nPierc'd with an arrow from the distant war:\nFix'd in his throat the flying weapon stood,\nAnd stopp'd his breath, and drank his vital blood\nHuge heaps of slain around the body rise:\nAmong the rest, the rich Galesus lies;\nA good old man, while peace he preach'd in vain,\nAmidst the madness of th' unruly train:\nFive herds, five bleating flocks, his pastures fill'd;\nHis lands a hundred yoke of oxen till'd.<\/p>\n
Thus, while in equal scales their fortune stood\nThe Fury bath'd them in each other's blood;\nThen, having fix'd the fight, exulting flies,\nAnd bears fulfill'd her promise to the skies.\nTo Juno thus she speaks: \"Behold! It is done,\nThe blood already drawn, the war begun;\nThe discord is complete; nor can they cease\nThe dire debate, nor you command the peace.\nNow, since the Latian and the Trojan brood\nHave tasted vengeance and the sweets of blood;\nSpeak, and my pow'r shall add this office more:\nThe neighb'ing nations of th' Ausonian shore\nShall hear the dreadful rumor, from afar,\nOf arm'd invasion, and embrace the war.\"\nThen Juno thus: \"The grateful work is done,\nThe seeds of discord sow'd, the war begun;\nFrauds, fears, and fury have possess'd the state,\nAnd fix'd the causes of a lasting hate.\nA bloody Hymen shall th' alliance join\nBetwixt the Trojan and Ausonian line:\nBut thou with speed to night and hell repair;\nFor not the gods, nor angry Jove, will bear\nThy lawless wand'ring walks in upper air.\nLeave what remains to me.\" Saturnia said:\nThe sullen fiend her sounding wings display'd,\nUnwilling left the light, and sought the nether shade.<\/p>\n
In midst of Italy, well known to fame,\nThere lies a lake (Amsanctus is the name)\nBelow the lofty mounts: on either side\nThick forests the forbidden entrance hide.\nFull in the center of the sacred wood\nAn arm arises of the Stygian flood,\nWhich, breaking from beneath with bellowing sound,\nWhirls the black waves and rattling stones around.\nHere Pluto pants for breath from out his cell,\nAnd opens wide the grinning jaws of hell.\nTo this infernal lake the Fury flies;\nHere hides her hated head, and frees the lab'ring skies.<\/p>\n
Saturnian Juno now, with double care,\nAttends the fatal process of the war.\nThe clowns, return'd, from battle bear the slain,\nImplore the gods, and to their king complain.\nThe corps of Almon and the rest are shown;\nShrieks, clamors, murmurs, fill the frighted town.\nAmbitious Turnus in the press appears,\nAnd, aggravating crimes, augments their fears;\nProclaims his private injuries aloud,\nA solemn promise made, and disavow'd;\nA foreign son is sought, and a mix'd mungril brood.\nThen they, whose mothers, frantic with their fear,\nIn woods and wilds the flags of Bacchus bear,\nAnd lead his dances with dishevel'd hair,\nIncrease the clamor, and the war demand,\n(Such was Amata's interest in the land,)\nAgainst the public sanctions of the peace,\nAgainst all omens of their ill success.\nWith fates averse, the rout in arms resort,\nTo force their monarch, and insult the court.\nBut, like a rock unmov'd, a rock that braves\nThe raging tempest and the rising waves-\nPropp'd on himself he stands; his solid sides\nWash off the seaweeds, and the sounding tides-\nSo stood the pious prince, unmov'd, and long\nSustain'd the madness of the noisy throng.\nBut, when he found that Juno's pow'r prevail'd,\nAnd all the methods of cool counsel fail'd,\nHe calls the gods to witness their offense,\nDisclaims the war, asserts his innocence.\n\"Hurried by fate,\" he cries, \"and borne before\nA furious wind, we have the faithful shore.\nO more than madmen! you yourselves shall bear\nThe guilt of blood and sacrilegious war:\nThou, Turnus, shalt atone it by thy fate,\nAnd pray to Heav'n for peace, but pray too late.\nFor me, my stormy voyage at an end,\nI to the port of death securely tend.\nThe fun'ral pomp which to your kings you pay,\nIs all I want, and all you take away.\"\nHe said no more, but, in his walls confin'd,\nShut out the woes which he too well divin'd\nNor with the rising storm would vainly strive,\nBut left the helm, and let the vessel drive.<\/p>\n
A solemn custom was observ'd of old,\nWhich Latium held, and now the Romans hold,\nTheir standard when in fighting fields they rear\nAgainst the fierce Hyrcanians, or declare\nThe Scythian, Indian, or Arabian war;\nOr from the boasting Parthians would regain\nTheir eagles, lost in Carrhae's bloody plain.\nTwo gates of steel (the name of Mars they bear,\nAnd still are worship'd with religious fear)\nBefore his temple stand: the dire abode,\nAnd the fear'd issues of the furious god,\nAre fenc'd with brazen bolts; without the gates,\nThe wary guardian Janus doubly waits.\nThen, when the sacred senate votes the wars,\nThe Roman consul their decree declares,\nAnd in his robes the sounding gates unbars.\nThe youth in military shouts arise,\nAnd the loud trumpets break the yielding skies.\nThese rites, of old by sov'reign princes us'd,\nWere the king's office; but the king refus'd,\nDeaf to their cries, nor would the gates unbar\nOf sacred peace, or loose th' imprison'd war;\nBut hid his head, and, safe from loud alarms,\nAbhorr'd the wicked ministry of arms.\nThen heav'n's imperious queen shot down from high:\nAt her approach the brazen hinges fly;\nThe gates are forc'd, and ev'ry falling bar;\nAnd, like a tempest, issues out the war.<\/p>\n
The peaceful cities of th' Ausonian shore,\nLull'd in their ease, and undisturb'd before,\nAre all on fire; and some, with studious care,\nTheir restiff steeds in sandy plains prepare;\nSome their soft limbs in painful marches try,\nAnd war is all their wish, and arms the gen'ral cry.\nPart scour the rusty shields with seam; and part\nNew grind the blunted ax, and point the dart:\nWith joy they view the waving ensigns fly,\nAnd hear the trumpet's clangor pierce the sky.\nFive cities forge their arms: th' Atinian pow'rs,\nAntemnae, Tibur with her lofty tow'rs,\nArdea the proud, the Crustumerian town:\nAll these of old were places of renown.\nSome hammer helmets for the fighting field;\nSome twine young sallows to support the shield;\nThe croslet some, and some the cuishes mold,\nWith silver plated, and with ductile gold.\nThe rustic honors of the scythe and share\nGive place to swords and plumes, the pride of war.\nOld fauchions are new temper'd in the fires;\nThe sounding trumpet ev'ry soul inspires.\nThe word is giv'n; with eager speed they lace\nThe shining headpiece, and the shield embrace.\nThe neighing steeds are to the chariot tied;\nThe trusty weapon sits on ev'ry side.<\/p>\n
And now the mighty labor is begun\nYe Muses, open all your Helicon.\nSing you the chiefs that sway'd th' Ausonian land,\nTheir arms, and armies under their command;\nWhat warriors in our ancient clime were bred;\nWhat soldiers follow'd, and what heroes led.\nFor well you know, and can record alone,\nWhat fame to future times conveys but darkly down.\nMezentius first appear'd upon the plain:\nScorn sate upon his brows, and sour disdain,\nDefying earth and heav'n. Etruria lost,\nHe brings to Turnus' aid his baffled host.\nThe charming Lausus, full of youthful fire,\nRode in the rank, and next his sullen sire;\nTo Turnus only second in the grace\nOf manly mien, and features of the face.\nA skilful horseman, and a huntsman bred,\nWith fates averse a thousand men he led:\nHis sire unworthy of so brave a son;\nHimself well worthy of a happier throne.<\/p>\n
Next Aventinus drives his chariot round\nThe Latian plains, with palms and laurels crown'd.\nProud of his steeds, he smokes along the field;\nHis father's hydra fills his ample shield:\nA hundred serpents hiss about the brims;\nThe son of Hercules he justly seems\nBy his broad shoulders and gigantic limbs;\nOf heav'nly part, and part of earthly blood,\nA mortal woman mixing with a god.\nFor strong Alcides, after he had slain\nThe triple Geryon, drove from conquer'd Spain\nHis captive herds; and, thence in triumph led,\nOn Tuscan Tiber's flow'ry banks they fed.\nThen on Mount Aventine the son of Jove\nThe priestess Rhea found, and forc'd to love.\nFor arms, his men long piles and jav'lins bore;\nAnd poles with pointed steel their foes in battle gore.\nLike Hercules himself his son appears,\nIn salvage pomp; a lion's hide he wears;\nAbout his shoulders hangs the shaggy skin;\nThe teeth and gaping jaws severely grin.\nThus, like the god his father, homely dress'd,\nHe strides into the hall, a horrid guest.<\/p>\n
Then two twin brothers from fair Tibur came,\n(Which from their brother Tiburs took the name,)\nFierce Coras and Catillus, void of fear:\nArm'd Argive horse they led, and in the front appear.\nLike cloud-born Centaurs, from the mountain's height\nWith rapid course descending to the fight;\nThey rush along; the rattling woods give way;\nThe branches bend before their sweepy sway.<\/p>\n
Nor was Praeneste's founder wanting there,\nWhom fame reports the son of Mulciber:\nFound in the fire, and foster'd in the plains,\nA shepherd and a king at once he reigns,\nAnd leads to Turnus' aid his country swains.\nHis own Praeneste sends a chosen band,\nWith those who plow Saturnia's Gabine land;\nBesides the succor which cold Anien yields,\nThe rocks of Hernicus, and dewy fields,\nAnagnia fat, and Father Amasene-\nA num'rous rout, but all of naked men:\nNor arms they wear, nor swords and bucklers wield,\nNor drive the chariot thro' the dusty field,\nBut whirl from leathern slings huge balls of lead,\nAnd spoils of yellow wolves adorn their head;\nThe left foot naked, when they march to fight,\nBut in a bull's raw hide they sheathe the right.\nMessapus next, (great Neptune was his sire,)\nSecure of steel, and fated from the fire,\nIn pomp appears, and with his ardor warms\nA heartless train, unexercis'd in arms:\nThe just Faliscans he to battle brings,\nAnd those who live where Lake Ciminia springs;\nAnd where Feronia's grove and temple stands,\nWho till Fescennian or Flavinian lands.\nAll these in order march, and marching sing\nThe warlike actions of their sea-born king;\nLike a long team of snowy swans on high,\nWhich clap their wings, and cleave the liquid sky,\nWhen, homeward from their wat'ry pastures borne,\nThey sing, and Asia's lakes their notes return.\nNot one who heard their music from afar,\nWould think these troops an army train'd to war,\nBut flocks of fowl, that, when the tempests roar,\nWith their hoarse gabbling seek the silent shore.<\/p>\n
Then Clausus came, who led a num'rous band\nOf troops embodied from the Sabine land,\nAnd, in himself alone, an army brought.\n'T was he, the noble Claudian race begot,\nThe Claudian race, ordain'd, in times to come,\nTo share the greatness of imperial Rome.\nHe led the Cures forth, of old renown,\nMutuscans from their olive-bearing town,\nAnd all th' Eretian pow'rs; besides a band\nThat follow'd from Velinum's dewy land,\nAnd Amiternian troops, of mighty fame,\nAnd mountaineers, that from Severus came,\nAnd from the craggy cliffs of Tetrica,\nAnd those where yellow Tiber takes his way,\nAnd where Himella's wanton waters play.\nCasperia sends her arms, with those that lie\nBy Fabaris, and fruitful Foruli:\nThe warlike aids of Horta next appear,\nAnd the cold Nursians come to close the rear,\nMix'd with the natives born of Latine blood,\nWhom Allia washes with her fatal flood.\nNot thicker billows beat the Libyan main,\nWhen pale Orion sets in wintry rain;\nNor thicker harvests on rich Hermus rise,\nOr Lycian fields, when Phoebus burns the skies,\nThan stand these troops: their bucklers ring around;\nTheir trampling turns the turf, and shakes the solid ground.<\/p>\n
High in his chariot then Halesus came,\nA foe by birth to Troy's unhappy name:\nFrom Agamemnon born- to Turnus' aid\nA thousand men the youthful hero led,\nWho till the Massic soil, for wine renown'd,\nAnd fierce Auruncans from their hilly ground,\nAnd those who live by Sidicinian shores,\nAnd where with shoaly fords Vulturnus roars,\nCales' and Osca's old inhabitants,\nAnd rough Saticulans, inur'd to wants:\nLight demi-lances from afar they throw,\nFasten'd with leathern thongs, to gall the foe.\nShort crooked swords in closer fight they wear;\nAnd on their warding arm light bucklers bear.<\/p>\n
Nor Oebalus, shalt thou be left unsung,\nFrom nymph Semethis and old Telon sprung,\nWho then in Teleboan Capri reign'd;\nBut that short isle th' ambitious youth disdain'd,\nAnd o'er Campania stretch'd his ample sway,\nWhere swelling Sarnus seeks the Tyrrhene sea;\nO'er Batulum, and where Abella sees,\nFrom her high tow'rs, the harvest of her trees.\nAnd these (as was the Teuton use of old)\nWield brazen swords, and brazen bucklers hold;\nSling weighty stones, when from afar they fight;\nTheir casques are cork, a covering thick and light.<\/p>\n
Next these in rank, the warlike Ufens went,\nAnd led the mountain troops that Nursia sent.\nThe rude Equicolae his rule obey'd;\nHunting their sport, and plund'ring was their trade.\nIn arms they plow'd, to battle still prepar'd:\nTheir soil was barren, and their hearts were hard.<\/p>\n
Umbro the priest the proud Marrubians led,\nBy King Archippus sent to Turnus' aid,\nAnd peaceful olives crown'd his hoary head.\nHis wand and holy words, the viper's rage,\nAnd venom'd wounds of serpents could assuage.\nHe, when he pleas'd with powerful juice to steep\nTheir temples, shut their eyes in pleasing sleep.\nBut vain were Marsian herbs, and magic art,\nTo cure the wound giv'n by the Dardan dart:\nYet his untimely fate th' Angitian woods\nIn sighs remurmur'd to the Fucine floods.<\/p>\n
The son of fam'd Hippolytus was there,\nFam'd as his sire, and, as his mother, fair;\nWhom in Egerian groves Aricia bore,\nAnd nurs'd his youth along the marshy shore,\nWhere great Diana's peaceful altars flame,\nIn fruitful fields; and Virbius was his name.\nHippolytus, as old records have said,\nWas by his stepdam sought to share her bed;\nBut, when no female arts his mind could move,\nShe turn'd to furious hate her impious love.\nTorn by wild horses on the sandy shore,\nAnother's crimes th' unhappy hunter bore,\nGlutting his father's eyes with guiltless gore.\nBut chaste Diana, who his death deplor'd,\nWith Aesculapian herbs his life restor'd.\nThen Jove, who saw from high, with just disdain,\nThe dead inspir'd with vital breath again,\nStruck to the center, with his flaming dart,\nTh' unhappy founder of the godlike art.\nBut Trivia kept in secret shades alone\nHer care, Hippolytus, to fate unknown;\nAnd call'd him Virbius in th' Egerian grove,\nWhere then he liv'd obscure, but safe from Jove.\nFor this, from Trivia's temple and her wood\nAre coursers driv'n, who shed their master's blood,\nAffrighted by the monsters of the flood.\nHis son, the second Virbius, yet retain'd\nHis father's art, and warrior steeds he rein'd.<\/p>\n
Amid the troops, and like the leading god,\nHigh o'er the rest in arms the graceful Turnus rode:\nA triple of plumes his crest adorn'd,\nOn which with belching flames Chimaera burn'd:\nThe more the kindled combat rises high'r,\nThe more with fury burns the blazing fire.\nFair Io grac'd his shield; but Io now\nWith horns exalted stands, and seems to low-\nA noble charge! Her keeper by her side,\nTo watch her walks, his hundred eyes applied;\nAnd on the brims her sire, the wat'ry god,\nRoll'd from a silver urn his crystal flood.\nA cloud of foot succeeds, and fills the fields\nWith swords, and pointed spears, and clatt'ring shields;\nOf Argives, and of old Sicanian bands,\nAnd those who plow the rich Rutulian lands;\nAuruncan youth, and those Sacrana yields,\nAnd the proud Labicans, with painted shields,\nAnd those who near Numician streams reside,\nAnd those whom Tiber's holy forests hide,\nOr Circe's hills from the main land divide;\nWhere Ufens glides along the lowly lands,\nOr the black water of Pomptina stands.<\/p>\n
Last, from the Volscians fair Camilla came,\nAnd led her warlike troops, a warrior dame;\nUnbred to spinning, in the loom unskill'd,\nShe chose the nobler Pallas of the field.\nMix'd with the first, the fierce virago fought,\nSustain'd the toils of arms, the danger sought,\nOutstripp'd the winds in speed upon the plain,\nFlew o'er the fields, nor hurt the bearded grain:\nShe swept the seas, and, as she skimm'd along,\nHer flying feet unbath'd on billows hung.\nMen, boys, and women, stupid with surprise,\nWhere'er she passes, fix their wond'ring eyes:\nLonging they look, and, gaping at the sight,\nDevour her o'er and o'er with vast delight;\nHer purple habit sits with such a grace\nOn her smooth shoulders, and so suits her face;\nHer head with ringlets of her hair is crown'd,\nAnd in a golden caul the curls are bound.\nShe shakes her myrtle jav'lin; and, behind,\nHer Lycian quiver dances in the wind.<\/p>","rendered":"
And thou, O matron of immortal fame,
\nHere dying, to the shore hast left thy name;
\nCajeta still the place is call’d from thee,
\nThe nurse of great Aeneas’ infancy.
\nHere rest thy bones in rich Hesperia’s plains;
\nThy name (‘t is all a ghost can have) remains.<\/p>\n
Now, when the prince her fun’ral rites had paid,
\nHe plow’d the Tyrrhene seas with sails display’d.
\nFrom land a gentle breeze arose by night,
\nSerenely shone the stars, the moon was bright,
\nAnd the sea trembled with her silver light.
\nNow near the shelves of Circe’s shores they run,
\n(Circe the rich, the daughter of the Sun,)
\nA dang’rous coast: the goddess wastes her days
\nIn joyous songs; the rocks resound her lays:
\nIn spinning, or the loom, she spends the night,
\nAnd cedar brands supply her father’s light.
\nFrom hence were heard, rebellowing to the main,
\nThe roars of lions that refuse the chain,
\nThe grunts of bristled boars, and groans of bears,
\nAnd herds of howling wolves that stun the sailors’ ears.
\nThese from their caverns, at the close of night,
\nFill the sad isle with horror and affright.
\nDarkling they mourn their fate, whom Circe’s pow’r,
\n(That watch’d the moon and planetary hour,)
\nWith words and wicked herbs from humankind
\nHad alter’d, and in brutal shapes confin’d.
\nWhich monsters lest the Trojans’ pious host
\nShould bear, or touch upon th’ inchanted coast,
\nPropitious Neptune steer’d their course by night
\nWith rising gales that sped their happy flight.
\nSupplied with these, they skim the sounding shore,
\nAnd hear the swelling surges vainly roar.
\nNow, when the rosy morn began to rise,
\nAnd wav’d her saffron streamer thro’ the skies;
\nWhen Thetis blush’d in purple not her own,
\nAnd from her face the breathing winds were blown,
\nA sudden silence sate upon the sea,
\nAnd sweeping oars, with struggling, urge their way.
\nThe Trojan, from the main, beheld a wood,
\nWhich thick with shades and a brown horror stood:
\nBetwixt the trees the Tiber took his course,
\nWith whirlpools dimpled; and with downward force,
\nThat drove the sand along, he took his way,
\nAnd roll’d his yellow billows to the sea.
\nAbout him, and above, and round the wood,
\nThe birds that haunt the borders of his flood,
\nThat bath’d within, or basked upon his side,
\nTo tuneful songs their narrow throats applied.
\nThe captain gives command; the joyful train
\nGlide thro’ the gloomy shade, and leave the main.<\/p>\n
Now, Erato, thy poet’s mind inspire,
\nAnd fill his soul with thy celestial fire!
\nRelate what Latium was; her ancient kings;
\nDeclare the past and state of things,
\nWhen first the Trojan fleet Ausonia sought,
\nAnd how the rivals lov’d, and how they fought.
\nThese are my theme, and how the war began,
\nAnd how concluded by the godlike man:
\nFor I shall sing of battles, blood, and rage,
\nWhich princes and their people did engage;
\nAnd haughty souls, that, mov’d with mutual hate,
\nIn fighting fields pursued and found their fate;
\nThat rous’d the Tyrrhene realm with loud alarms,
\nAnd peaceful Italy involv’d in arms.
\nA larger scene of action is display’d;
\nAnd, rising hence, a greater work is weigh’d.<\/p>\n
Latinus, old and mild, had long possess’d
\nThe Latin scepter, and his people blest:
\nHis father Faunus; a Laurentian dame
\nHis mother; fair Marica was her name.
\nBut Faunus came from Picus: Picus drew
\nHis birth from Saturn, if records be true.
\nThus King Latinus, in the third degree,
\nHad Saturn author of his family.
\nBut this old peaceful prince, as Heav’n decreed,
\nWas blest with no male issue to succeed:
\nHis sons in blooming youth were snatch’d by fate;
\nOne only daughter heir’d the royal state.
\nFir’d with her love, and with ambition led,
\nThe neighb’ring princes court her nuptial bed.
\nAmong the crowd, but far above the rest,
\nYoung Turnus to the beauteous maid address’d.
\nTurnus, for high descent and graceful mien,
\nWas first, and favor’d by the Latian queen;
\nWith him she strove to join Lavinia’s hand,
\nBut dire portents the purpos’d match withstand.<\/p>\n
Deep in the palace, of long growth, there stood
\nA laurel’s trunk, a venerable wood;
\nWhere rites divine were paid; whose holy hair
\nWas kept and cut with superstitious care.
\nThis plant Latinus, when his town he wall’d,
\nThen found, and from the tree Laurentum call’d;
\nAnd last, in honor of his new abode,
\nHe vow’d the laurel to the laurel’s god.
\nIt happen’d once (a boding prodigy!)
\nA swarm of bees, that cut the liquid sky,
\n(Unknown from whence they took their airy flight,)
\nUpon the topmost branch in clouds alight;
\nThere with their clasping feet together clung,
\nAnd a long cluster from the laurel hung.
\nAn ancient augur prophesied from hence:
\n“Behold on Latian shores a foreign prince!
\nFrom the same parts of heav’n his navy stands,
\nTo the same parts on earth; his army lands;
\nThe town he conquers, and the tow’r commands.”<\/p>\n
Yet more, when fair Lavinia fed the fire
\nBefore the gods, and stood beside her sire,
\n(Strange to relate!) the flames, involv’d in smoke
\nOf incense, from the sacred altar broke,
\nCaught her dishevel’d hair and rich attire;
\nHer crown and jewels crackled in the fire:
\nFrom thence the fuming trail began to spread
\nAnd lambent glories danc’d about her head.
\nThis new portent the seer with wonder views,
\nThen pausing, thus his prophecy renews:
\n“The nymph, who scatters flaming fires around,
\nShall shine with honor, shall herself be crown’d;
\nBut, caus’d by her irrevocable fate,
\nWar shall the country waste, and change the state.”<\/p>\n
Latinus, frighted with this dire ostent,
\nFor counsel to his father Faunus went,
\nAnd sought the shades renown’d for prophecy
\nWhich near Albunea’s sulph’rous fountain lie.
\nTo these the Latian and the Sabine land
\nFly, when distress’d, and thence relief demand.
\nThe priest on skins of off’rings takes his ease,
\nAnd nightly visions in his slumber sees;
\nA swarm of thin aerial shapes appears,
\nAnd, flutt’ring round his temples, deafs his ears:
\nThese he consults, the future fates to know,
\nFrom pow’rs above, and from the fiends below.
\nHere, for the gods’ advice, Latinus flies,
\nOff’ring a hundred sheep for sacrifice:
\nTheir woolly fleeces, as the rites requir’d,
\nHe laid beneath him, and to rest retir’d.
\nNo sooner were his eyes in slumber bound,
\nWhen, from above, a more than mortal sound
\nInvades his ears; and thus the vision spoke:
\n“Seek not, my seed, in Latian bands to yoke
\nOur fair Lavinia, nor the gods provoke.
\nA foreign son upon thy shore descends,
\nWhose martial fame from pole to pole extends.
\nHis race, in arms and arts of peace renown’d,
\nNot Latium shall contain, nor Europe bound:
\n‘T is theirs whate’er the sun surveys around.”
\nThese answers, in the silent night receiv’d,
\nThe king himself divulg’d, the land believ’d:
\nThe fame thro’ all the neighb’ring nations flew,
\nWhen now the Trojan navy was in view.<\/p>\n
Beneath a shady tree, the hero spread
\nHis table on the turf, with cakes of bread;
\nAnd, with his chiefs, on forest fruits he fed.
\nThey sate; and, (not without the god’s command,)
\nTheir homely fare dispatch’d, the hungry band
\nInvade their trenchers next, and soon devour,
\nTo mend the scanty meal, their cakes of flour.
\nAscanius this observ’d, and smiling said:
\n“See, we devour the plates on which we fed.”
\nThe speech had omen, that the Trojan race
\nShould find repose, and this the time and place.
\nAeneas took the word, and thus replies,
\nConfessing fate with wonder in his eyes:
\n“All hail, O earth! all hail, my household gods!
\nBehold the destin’d place of your abodes!
\nFor thus Anchises prophesied of old,
\nAnd this our fatal place of rest foretold:
\n‘When, on a foreign shore, instead of meat,
\nBy famine forc’d, your trenchers you shall eat,
\nThen ease your weary Trojans will attend,
\nAnd the long labors of your voyage end.
\nRemember on that happy coast to build,
\nAnd with a trench inclose the fruitful field.’
\nThis was that famine, this the fatal place
\nWhich ends the wand’ring of our exil’d race.
\nThen, on to-morrow’s dawn, your care employ,
\nTo search the land, and where the cities lie,
\nAnd what the men; but give this day to joy.
\nNow pour to Jove; and, after Jove is blest,
\nCall great Anchises to the genial feast:
\nCrown high the goblets with a cheerful draught;
\nEnjoy the present hour; adjourn the future thought.”<\/p>\n
Thus having said, the hero bound his brows
\nWith leafy branches, then perform’d his vows;
\nAdoring first the genius of the place,
\nThen Earth, the mother of the heav’nly race,
\nThe nymphs, and native godheads yet unknown,
\nAnd Night, and all the stars that gild her sable throne,
\nAnd ancient Cybel, and Idaean Jove,
\nAnd last his sire below, and mother queen above.
\nThen heav’n’s high monarch thunder’d thrice aloud,
\nAnd thrice he shook aloft a golden cloud.
\nSoon thro’ the joyful camp a rumor flew,
\nThe time was come their city to renew.
\nThen ev’ry brow with cheerful green is crown’d,
\nThe feasts are doubled, and the bowls go round.<\/p>\n
When next the rosy morn disclos’d the day,
\nThe scouts to sev’ral parts divide their way,
\nTo learn the natives’ names, their towns explore,
\nThe coasts and trendings of the crooked shore:
\nHere Tiber flows, and here Numicus stands;
\nHere warlike Latins hold the happy lands.
\nThe pious chief, who sought by peaceful ways
\nTo found his empire, and his town to raise,
\nA hundred youths from all his train selects,
\nAnd to the Latian court their course directs,
\n(The spacious palace where their prince resides,)
\nAnd all their heads with wreaths of olive hides.
\nThey go commission’d to require a peace,
\nAnd carry presents to procure access.
\nThus while they speed their pace, the prince designs
\nHis new-elected seat, and draws the lines.
\nThe Trojans round the place a rampire cast,
\nAnd palisades about the trenches plac’d.<\/p>\n
Meantime the train, proceeding on their way,
\nFrom far the town and lofty tow’rs survey;
\nAt length approach the walls. Without the gate,
\nThey see the boys and Latian youth debate
\nThe martial prizes on the dusty plain:
\nSome drive the cars, and some the coursers rein;
\nSome bend the stubborn bow for victory,
\nAnd some with darts their active sinews try.
\nA posting messenger, dispatch’d from hence,
\nOf this fair troop advis’d their aged prince,
\nThat foreign men of mighty stature came;
\nUncouth their habit, and unknown their name.
\nThe king ordains their entrance, and ascends
\nHis regal seat, surrounded by his friends.<\/p>\n
The palace built by Picus, vast and proud,
\nSupported by a hundred pillars stood,
\nAnd round incompass’d with a rising wood.
\nThe pile o’erlook’d the town, and drew the sight;
\nSurpris’d at once with reverence and delight.
\nThere kings receiv’d the marks of sov’reign pow’r;
\nIn state the monarchs march’d; the lictors bore
\nTheir awful axes and the rods before.
\nHere the tribunal stood, the house of pray’r,
\nAnd here the sacred senators repair;
\nAll at large tables, in long order set,
\nA ram their off’ring, and a ram their meat.
\nAbove the portal, carv’d in cedar wood,
\nPlac’d in their ranks, their godlike grandsires stood;
\nOld Saturn, with his crooked scythe, on high;
\nAnd Italus, that led the colony;
\nAnd ancient Janus, with his double face,
\nAnd bunch of keys, the porter of the place.
\nThere good Sabinus, planter of the vines,
\nOn a short pruning hook his head reclines,
\nAnd studiously surveys his gen’rous wines;
\nThen warlike kings, who for their country fought,
\nAnd honorable wounds from battle brought.
\nAround the posts hung helmets, darts, and spears,
\nAnd captive chariots, axes, shields, and bars,
\nAnd broken beaks of ships, the trophies of their wars.
\nAbove the rest, as chief of all the band,
\nWas Picus plac’d, a buckler in his hand;
\nHis other wav’d a long divining wand.
\nGirt in his Gabin gown the hero sate,
\nYet could not with his art avoid his fate:
\nFor Circe long had lov’d the youth in vain,
\nTill love, refus’d, converted to disdain:
\nThen, mixing pow’rful herbs, with magic art,
\nShe chang’d his form, who could not change his heart;
\nConstrain’d him in a bird, and made him fly,
\nWith party-color’d plumes, a chatt’ring pie.<\/p>\n
In this high temple, on a chair of state,
\nThe seat of audience, old Latinus sate;
\nThen gave admission to the Trojan train;
\nAnd thus with pleasing accents he began:
\n“Tell me, ye Trojans, for that name you own,
\nNor is your course upon our coasts unknown-
\nSay what you seek, and whither were you bound:
\nWere you by stress of weather cast aground?
\n(Such dangers as on seas are often seen,
\nAnd oft befall to miserable men,)
\nOr come, your shipping in our ports to lay,
\nSpent and disabled in so long a way?
\nSay what you want: the Latians you shall find
\nNot forc’d to goodness, but by will inclin’d;
\nFor, since the time of Saturn’s holy reign,
\nHis hospitable customs we retain.
\nI call to mind (but time the tale has worn)
\nTh’ Arunci told, that Dardanus, tho’ born
\nOn Latian plains, yet sought the Phrygian shore,
\nAnd Samothracia, Samos call’d before.
\nFrom Tuscan Coritum he claim’d his birth;
\nBut after, when exempt from mortal earth,
\nFrom thence ascended to his kindred skies,
\nA god, and, as a god, augments their sacrifice,”<\/p>\n
He said. Ilioneus made this reply:
\n“O king, of Faunus’ royal family!
\nNor wintry winds to Latium forc’d our way,
\nNor did the stars our wand’ring course betray.
\nWilling we sought your shores; and, hither bound,
\nThe port, so long desir’d, at length we found;
\nFrom our sweet homes and ancient realms expell’d;
\nGreat as the greatest that the sun beheld.
\nThe god began our line, who rules above;
\nAnd, as our race, our king descends from Jove:
\nAnd hither are we come, by his command,
\nTo crave admission in your happy land.
\nHow dire a tempest, from Mycenae pour’d,
\nOur plains, our temples, and our town devour’d;
\nWhat was the waste of war, what fierce alarms
\nShook Asia’s crown with European arms;
\nEv’n such have heard, if any such there be,
\nWhose earth is bounded by the frozen sea;
\nAnd such as, born beneath the burning sky
\nAnd sultry sun, betwixt the tropics lie.
\nFrom that dire deluge, thro’ the wat’ry waste,
\nSuch length of years, such various perils past,
\nAt last escap’d, to Latium we repair,
\nTo beg what you without your want may spare:
\nThe common water, and the common air;
\nSheds which ourselves will build, and mean abodes,
\nFit to receive and serve our banish’d gods.
\nNor our admission shall your realm disgrace,
\nNor length of time our gratitude efface.
\nBesides, what endless honor you shall gain,
\nTo save and shelter Troy’s unhappy train!
\nNow, by my sov’reign, and his fate, I swear,
\nRenown’d for faith in peace, for force in war;
\nOft our alliance other lands desir’d,
\nAnd, what we seek of you, of us requir’d.
\nDespite not then, that in our hands we bear
\nThese holy boughs, sue with words of pray’r.
\nFate and the gods, by their supreme command,
\nHave doom’d our ships to seek the Latian land.
\nTo these abodes our fleet Apollo sends;
\nHere Dardanus was born, and hither tends;
\nWhere Tuscan Tiber rolls with rapid force,
\nAnd where Numicus opes his holy source.
\nBesides, our prince presents, with his request,
\nSome small remains of what his sire possess’d.
\nThis golden charger, snatch’d from burning Troy,
\nAnchises did in sacrifice employ;
\nThis royal robe and this tiara wore
\nOld Priam, and this golden scepter bore
\nIn full assemblies, and in solemn games;
\nThese purple vests were weav’d by Dardan dames.”<\/p>\n
Thus while he spoke, Latinus roll’d around
\nHis eyes, and fix’d a while upon the ground.
\nIntent he seem’d, and anxious in his breast;
\nNot by the scepter mov’d, or kingly vest,
\nBut pond’ring future things of wondrous weight;
\nSuccession, empire, and his daughter’s fate.
\nOn these he mus’d within his thoughtful mind,
\nAnd then revolv’d what Faunus had divin’d.
\nThis was the foreign prince, by fate decreed
\nTo share his scepter, and Lavinia’s bed;
\nThis was the race that sure portents foreshew
\nTo sway the world, and land and sea subdue.
\nAt length he rais’d his cheerful head, and spoke:
\n“The pow’rs,” said he, “the pow’rs we both invoke,
\nTo you, and yours, and mine, propitious be,
\nAnd firm our purpose with their augury!
\nHave what you ask; your presents I receive;
\nLand, where and when you please, with ample leave;
\nPartake and use my kingdom as your own;
\nAll shall be yours, while I command the crown:
\nAnd, if my wish’d alliance please your king,
\nTell him he should not send the peace, but bring.
\nThen let him not a friend’s embraces fear;
\nThe peace is made when I behold him here.
\nBesides this answer, tell my royal guest,
\nI add to his commands my own request:
\nOne only daughter heirs my crown and state,
\nWhom not our oracles, nor Heav’n, nor fate,
\nNor frequent prodigies, permit to join
\nWith any native of th’ Ausonian line.
\nA foreign son-in-law shall come from far
\n(Such is our doom), a chief renown’d in war,
\nWhose race shall bear aloft the Latian name,
\nAnd thro’ the conquer’d world diffuse our fame.
\nHimself to be the man the fates require,
\nI firmly judge, and, what I judge, desire.”<\/p>\n
He said, and then on each bestow’d a steed.
\nThree hundred horses, in high stables fed,
\nStood ready, shining all, and smoothly dress’d:
\nOf these he chose the fairest and the best,
\nTo mount the Trojan troop. At his command
\nThe steeds caparison’d with purple stand,
\nWith golden trappings, glorious to behold,
\nAnd champ betwixt their teeth the foaming gold.
\nThen to his absent guest the king decreed
\nA pair of coursers born of heav’nly breed,
\nWho from their nostrils breath’d ethereal fire;
\nWhom Circe stole from her celestial sire,
\nBy substituting mares produc’d on earth,
\nWhose wombs conceiv’d a more than mortal birth.
\nThese draw the chariot which Latinus sends,
\nAnd the rich present to the prince commends.
\nSublime on stately steeds the Trojans borne,
\nTo their expecting lord with peace return.<\/p>\n
But jealous Juno, from Pachynus’ height,
\nAs she from Argos took her airy flight,
\nBeheld with envious eyes this hateful sight.
\nShe saw the Trojan and his joyful train
\nDescend upon the shore, desert the main,
\nDesign a town, and, with unhop’d success,
\nTh’ embassadors return with promis’d peace.
\nThen, pierc’d with pain, she shook her haughty head,
\nSigh’d from her inward soul, and thus she said:
\n“O hated offspring of my Phrygian foes!
\nO fates of Troy, which Juno’s fates oppose!
\nCould they not fall unpitied on the plain,
\nBut slain revive, and, taken, scape again?
\nWhen execrable Troy in ashes lay,
\nThro’ fires and swords and seas they forc’d their way.
\nThen vanquish’d Juno must in vain contend,
\nHer rage disarm’d, her empire at an end.
\nBreathless and tir’d, is all my fury spent?
\nOr does my glutted spleen at length relent?
\nAs if ‘t were little from their town to chase,
\nI thro’ the seas pursued their exil’d race;
\nIngag’d the heav’ns, oppos’d the stormy main;
\nBut billows roar’d, and tempests rag’d in vain.
\nWhat have my Scyllas and my Syrtes done,
\nWhen these they overpass, and those they shun?
\nOn Tiber’s shores they land, secure of fate,
\nTriumphant o’er the storms and Juno’s hate.
\nMars could in mutual blood the Centaurs bathe,
\nAnd Jove himself gave way to Cynthia’s wrath,
\nWho sent the tusky boar to Calydon;
\n(What great offense had either people done?)
\nBut I, the consort of the Thunderer,
\nHave wag’d a long and unsuccessful war,
\nWith various arts and arms in vain have toil’d,
\nAnd by a mortal man at length am foil’d.
\nIf native pow’r prevail not, shall I doubt
\nTo seek for needful succor from without?
\nIf Jove and Heav’n my just desires deny,
\nHell shall the pow’r of Heav’n and Jove supply.
\nGrant that the Fates have firm’d, by their decree,
\nThe Trojan race to reign in Italy;
\nAt least I can defer the nuptial day,
\nAnd with protracted wars the peace delay:
\nWith blood the dear alliance shall be bought,
\nAnd both the people near destruction brought;
\nSo shall the son-in-law and father join,
\nWith ruin, war, and waste of either line.
\nO fatal maid, thy marriage is endow’d
\nWith Phrygian, Latian, and Rutulian blood!
\nBellona leads thee to thy lover’s hand;
\nAnother queen brings forth another brand,
\nTo burn with foreign fires another land!
\nA second Paris, diff’ring but in name,
\nShall fire his country with a second flame.”<\/p>\n
Thus having said, she sinks beneath the ground,
\nWith furious haste, and shoots the Stygian sound,
\nTo rouse Alecto from th’ infernal seat
\nOf her dire sisters, and their dark retreat.
\nThis Fury, fit for her intent, she chose;
\nOne who delights in wars and human woes.
\nEv’n Pluto hates his own misshapen race;
\nHer sister Furies fly her hideous face;
\nSo frightful are the forms the monster takes,
\nSo fierce the hissings of her speckled snakes.
\nHer Juno finds, and thus inflames her spite:
\n“O virgin daughter of eternal Night,
\nGive me this once thy labor, to sustain
\nMy right, and execute my just disdain.
\nLet not the Trojans, with a feign’d pretense
\nOf proffer’d peace, delude the Latian prince.
\nExpel from Italy that odious name,
\nAnd let not Juno suffer in her fame.
\n‘T is thine to ruin realms, o’erturn a state,
\nBetwixt the dearest friends to raise debate,
\nAnd kindle kindred blood to mutual hate.
\nThy hand o’er towns the fun’ral torch displays,
\nAnd forms a thousand ills ten thousand ways.
\nNow shake, out thy fruitful breast, the seeds
\nOf envy, discord, and of cruel deeds:
\nConfound the peace establish’d, and prepare
\nTheir souls to hatred, and their hands to war.”<\/p>\n
Smear’d as she was with black Gorgonian blood,
\nThe Fury sprang above the Stygian flood;
\nAnd on her wicker wings, sublime thro’ night,
\nShe to the Latian palace took her flight:
\nThere sought the queen’s apartment, stood before
\nThe peaceful threshold, and besieg’d the door.
\nRestless Amata lay, her swelling breast
\nFir’d with disdain for Turnus dispossess’d,
\nAnd the new nuptials of the Trojan guest.
\nFrom her black bloody locks the Fury shakes
\nHer darling plague, the fav’rite of her snakes;
\nWith her full force she threw the poisonous dart,
\nAnd fix’d it deep within Amata’s heart,
\nThat, thus envenom’d, she might kindle rage,
\nAnd sacrifice to strife her house husband’s age.
\nUnseen, unfelt, the fiery serpent skims
\nBetwixt her linen and her naked limbs;
\nHis baleful breath inspiring, as he glides,
\nNow like a chain around her neck he rides,
\nNow like a fillet to her head repairs,
\nAnd with his circling volumes folds her hairs.
\nAt first the silent venom slid with ease,
\nAnd seiz’d her cooler senses by degrees;
\nThen, ere th’ infected mass was fir’d too far,
\nIn plaintive accents she began the war,
\nAnd thus bespoke her husband: “Shall,” she said,
\n“A wand’ring prince enjoy Lavinia’s bed?
\nIf nature plead not in a parent’s heart,
\nPity my tears, and pity her desert.
\nI know, my dearest lord, the time will come,
\nYou in vain, reverse your cruel doom;
\nThe faithless pirate soon will set to sea,
\nAnd bear the royal virgin far away!
\nA guest like him, a Trojan guest before,
\nIn shew of friendship sought the Spartan shore,
\nAnd ravish’d Helen from her husband bore.
\nThink on a king’s inviolable word;
\nAnd think on Turnus, her once plighted lord:
\nTo this false foreigner you give your throne,
\nAnd wrong a friend, a kinsman, and a son.
\nResume your ancient care; and, if the god
\nYour sire, and you, resolve on foreign blood,
\nKnow all are foreign, in a larger sense,
\nNot born your subjects, or deriv’d from hence.
\nThen, if the line of Turnus you retrace,
\nHe springs from Inachus of Argive race.”<\/p>\n
But when she saw her reasons idly spent,
\nAnd could not move him from his fix’d intent,
\nShe flew to rage; for now the snake possess’d
\nHer vital parts, and poison’d all her breast;
\nShe raves, she runs with a distracted pace,
\nAnd fills with horrid howls the public place.
\nAnd, as young striplings whip the top for sport,
\nOn the smooth pavement of an empty court;
\nThe wooden engine flies and whirls about,
\nAdmir’d, with clamors, of the beardless rout;
\nThey lash aloud; each other they provoke,
\nAnd lend their little souls at ev’ry stroke:
\nThus fares the queen; and thus her fury blows
\nAmidst the crowd, and kindles as she goes.
\nNor yet content, she strains her malice more,
\nAnd adds new ills to those contriv’d before:
\nShe flies the town, and, mixing with a throng
\nOf madding matrons, bears the bride along,
\nWand’ring thro’ woods and wilds, and devious ways,
\nAnd with these arts the Trojan match delays.
\nShe feign’d the rites of Bacchus; cried aloud,
\nAnd to the buxom god the virgin vow’d.
\n“Evoe! O Bacchus!” thus began the song;
\nAnd “Evoe!” answer’d all the female throng.
\n“O virgin! worthy thee alone!” she cried;
\n“O worthy thee alone!” the crew replied.
\n“For thee she feeds her hair, she leads thy dance,
\nAnd with thy winding ivy wreathes her lance.”
\nLike fury seiz’d the rest; the progress known,
\nAll seek the mountains, and forsake the town:
\nAll, clad in skins of beasts, the jav’lin bear,
\nGive to the wanton winds their flowing hair,
\nAnd shrieks and shoutings rend the suff’ring air.
\nThe queen herself, inspir’d with rage divine,
\nShook high above her head a flaming pine;
\nThen roll’d her haggard eyes around the throng,
\nAnd sung, in Turnus’ name, the nuptial song:
\n“Io, ye Latian dames! if any here
\nHold your unhappy queen, Amata, dear;
\nIf there be here,” she said, “who dare maintain
\nMy right, nor think the name of mother vain;
\nUnbind your fillets, loose your flowing hair,
\nAnd orgies and nocturnal rites prepare.”<\/p>\n
Amata’s breast the Fury thus invades,
\nAnd fires with rage, amid the sylvan shades;
\nThen, when she found her venom spread so far,
\nThe royal house embroil’d in civil war,
\nRais’d on her dusky wings, she cleaves the skies,
\nAnd seeks the palace where young Turnus lies.
\nHis town, as fame reports, was built of old
\nBy Danae, pregnant with almighty gold,
\nWho fled her father’s rage, and, with a train
\nOf following Argives, thro’ the stormy main,
\nDriv’n by the southern blasts, was fated here to reign.
\n‘T was Ardua once; now Ardea’s name it bears;
\nOnce a fair city, now consum’d with years.
\nHere, in his lofty palace, Turnus lay,
\nBetwixt the confines of the night and day,
\nSecure in sleep. The Fury laid aside
\nHer looks and limbs, and with new methods tried
\nThe foulness of th’ infernal form to hide.
\nPropp’d on a staff, she takes a trembling mien:
\nHer face is furrow’d, and her front obscene;
\nDeep-dinted wrinkles on her cheek she draws;
\nSunk are her eyes, and toothless are her jaws;
\nHer hoary hair with holy fillets bound,
\nHer temples with an olive wreath are crown’d.
\nOld Chalybe, who kept the sacred fane
\nOf Juno, now she seem’d, and thus began,
\nAppearing in a dream, to rouse the careless man:
\n“Shall Turnus then such endless toil sustain
\nIn fighting fields, and conquer towns in vain?
\nWin, for a Trojan head to wear the prize,
\nUsurp thy crown, enjoy thy victories?
\nThe bride and scepter which thy blood has bought,
\nThe king transfers; and foreign heirs are sought.
\nGo now, deluded man, and seek again
\nNew toils, new dangers, on the dusty plain.
\nRepel the Tuscan foes; their city seize;
\nProtect the Latians in luxurious ease.
\nThis dream all-pow’rful Juno sends; I bear
\nHer mighty mandates, and her words you hear.
\nHaste; arm your Ardeans; issue to the plain;
\nWith fate to friend, assault the Trojan train:
\nTheir thoughtless chiefs, their painted ships, that lie
\nIn Tiber’s mouth, with fire and sword destroy.
\nThe Latian king, unless he shall submit,
\nOwn his old promise, and his new forget-
\nLet him, in arms, the pow’r of Turnus prove,
\nAnd learn to fear whom he disdains to love.
\nFor such is Heav’n’s command.” The youthful prince
\nWith scorn replied, and made this bold defense:
\n“You tell me, mother, what I knew before:
\nThe Phrygian fleet is landed on the shore.
\nI neither fear nor will provoke the war;
\nMy fate is Juno’s most peculiar care.
\nBut time has made you dote, and vainly tell
\nOf arms imagin’d in your lonely cell.
\nGo; be the temple and the gods your care;
\nPermit to men the thought of peace and war.”<\/p>\n
These haughty words Alecto’s rage provoke,
\nAnd frighted Turnus trembled as she spoke.
\nHer eyes grow stiffen’d, and with sulphur burn;
\nHer hideous looks and hellish form return;
\nHer curling snakes with hissings fill the place,
\nAnd open all the furies of her face:
\nThen, darting fire from her malignant eyes,
\nShe cast him backward as he strove to rise,
\nAnd, ling’ring, sought to frame some new replies.
\nHigh on her head she rears two twisted snakes,
\nHer chains she rattles, and her whip she shakes;
\nAnd, churning bloody foam, thus loudly speaks:
\n“Behold whom time has made to dote, and tell
\nOf arms imagin’d in her lonely cell!
\nBehold the Fates’ infernal minister!
\nWar, death, destruction, in my hand I bear.”<\/p>\n
Thus having said, her smold’ring torch, impress’d
\nWith her full force, she plung’d into his breast.
\nAghast he wak’d; and, starting from his bed,
\nCold sweat, in clammy drops, his limbs o’erspread.
\n“Arms! arms!” he cries: “my sword and shield prepare!”
\nHe breathes defiance, blood, and mortal war.
\nSo, when with crackling flames a caldron fries,
\nThe bubbling waters from the bottom rise:
\nAbove the brims they force their fiery way;
\nBlack vapors climb aloft, and cloud the day.<\/p>\n
The peace polluted thus, a chosen band
\nHe first commissions to the Latian land,
\nIn threat’ning embassy; then rais’d the rest,
\nTo meet in arms th’ intruding Trojan guest,
\nTo force the foes from the Lavinian shore,
\nAnd Italy’s indanger’d peace restore.
\nHimself alone an equal match he boasts,
\nTo fight the Phrygian and Ausonian hosts.
\nThe gods invok’d, the Rutuli prepare
\nTheir arms, and warn each other to the war.
\nHis beauty these, and those his blooming age,
\nThe rest his house and his own fame ingage.<\/p>\n
While Turnus urges thus his enterprise,
\nThe Stygian Fury to the Trojans flies;
\nNew frauds invents, and takes a steepy stand,
\nWhich overlooks the vale with wide command;
\nWhere fair Ascanius and his youthful train,
\nWith horns and hounds, a hunting match ordain,
\nAnd pitch their toils around the shady plain.
\nThe Fury fires the pack; they snuff, they vent,
\nAnd feed their hungry nostrils with the scent.
\n‘Twas of a well-grown stag, whose antlers rise
\nHigh o’er his front; his beams invade the skies.
\nFrom this light cause th’ infernal maid prepares
\nThe country churls to mischief, hate, and wars.<\/p>\n
The stately beast the two Tyrrhidae bred,
\nSnatch’d from his dams, and the tame youngling fed.
\nTheir father Tyrrheus did his fodder bring,
\nTyrrheus, chief ranger to the Latian king:
\nTheir sister Silvia cherish’d with her care
\nThe little wanton, and did wreaths prepare
\nTo hang his budding horns, with ribbons tied
\nHis tender neck, and comb’d his silken hide,
\nAnd bathed his body. Patient of command
\nIn time he grew, and, growing us’d to hand,
\nHe waited at his master’s board for food;
\nThen sought his salvage kindred in the wood,
\nWhere grazing all the day, at night he came
\nTo his known lodgings, and his country dame.<\/p>\n
This household beast, that us’d the woodland grounds,
\nWas view’d at first by the young hero’s hounds,
\nAs down the stream he swam, to seek retreat
\nIn the cool waters, and to quench his heat.
\nAscanius young, and eager of his game,
\nSoon bent his bow, uncertain in his aim;
\nBut the dire fiend the fatal arrow guides,
\nWhich pierc’d his bowels thro’ his panting sides.
\nThe bleeding creature issues from the floods,
\nPossess’d with fear, and seeks his known abodes,
\nHis old familiar hearth and household gods.
\nHe falls; he fills the house with heavy groans,
\nImplores their pity, and his pain bemoans.
\nYoung Silvia beats her breast, and cries aloud
\nFor succor from the clownish neighborhood:
\nThe churls assemble; for the fiend, who lay
\nIn the close woody covert, urg’d their way.
\nOne with a brand yet burning from the flame,
\nArm’d with a knotty club another came:
\nWhate’er they catch or find, without their care,
\nTheir fury makes an instrument of war.
\nTyrrheus, the foster father of the beast,
\nThen clench’d a hatchet in his horny fist,
\nBut held his hand from the descending stroke,
\nAnd left his wedge within the cloven oak,
\nTo whet their courage and their rage provoke.
\nAnd now the goddess, exercis’d in ill,
\nWho watch’d an hour to work her impious will,
\nAscends the roof, and to her crooked horn,
\nSuch as was then by Latian shepherds borne,
\nAdds all her breath: the rocks and woods around,
\nAnd mountains, tremble at th’ infernal sound.
\nThe sacred lake of Trivia from afar,
\nThe Veline fountains, and sulphureous Nar,
\nShake at the baleful blast, the signal of the war.
\nYoung mothers wildly stare, with fear possess’d,
\nAnd strain their helpless infants to their breast.<\/p>\n
The clowns, a boist’rous, rude, ungovern’d crew,
\nWith furious haste to the loud summons flew.
\nThe pow’rs of Troy, then issuing on the plain,
\nWith fresh recruits their youthful chief sustain:
\nNot theirs a raw and unexperienc’d train,
\nBut a firm body of embattled men.
\nAt first, while fortune favor’d neither side,
\nThe fight with clubs and burning brands was tried;
\nBut now, both parties reinforc’d, the fields
\nAre bright with flaming swords and brazen shields.
\nA shining harvest either host displays,
\nAnd shoots against the sun with equal rays.
\nThus, when a black-brow’d gust begins to rise,
\nWhite foam at first on the curl’d ocean fries;
\nThen roars the main, the billows mount the skies;
\nTill, by the fury of the storm full blown,
\nThe muddy bottom o’er the clouds is thrown.
\nFirst Almon falls, old Tyrrheus’ eldest care,
\nPierc’d with an arrow from the distant war:
\nFix’d in his throat the flying weapon stood,
\nAnd stopp’d his breath, and drank his vital blood
\nHuge heaps of slain around the body rise:
\nAmong the rest, the rich Galesus lies;
\nA good old man, while peace he preach’d in vain,
\nAmidst the madness of th’ unruly train:
\nFive herds, five bleating flocks, his pastures fill’d;
\nHis lands a hundred yoke of oxen till’d.<\/p>\n
Thus, while in equal scales their fortune stood
\nThe Fury bath’d them in each other’s blood;
\nThen, having fix’d the fight, exulting flies,
\nAnd bears fulfill’d her promise to the skies.
\nTo Juno thus she speaks: “Behold! It is done,
\nThe blood already drawn, the war begun;
\nThe discord is complete; nor can they cease
\nThe dire debate, nor you command the peace.
\nNow, since the Latian and the Trojan brood
\nHave tasted vengeance and the sweets of blood;
\nSpeak, and my pow’r shall add this office more:
\nThe neighb’ing nations of th’ Ausonian shore
\nShall hear the dreadful rumor, from afar,
\nOf arm’d invasion, and embrace the war.”
\nThen Juno thus: “The grateful work is done,
\nThe seeds of discord sow’d, the war begun;
\nFrauds, fears, and fury have possess’d the state,
\nAnd fix’d the causes of a lasting hate.
\nA bloody Hymen shall th’ alliance join
\nBetwixt the Trojan and Ausonian line:
\nBut thou with speed to night and hell repair;
\nFor not the gods, nor angry Jove, will bear
\nThy lawless wand’ring walks in upper air.
\nLeave what remains to me.” Saturnia said:
\nThe sullen fiend her sounding wings display’d,
\nUnwilling left the light, and sought the nether shade.<\/p>\n
In midst of Italy, well known to fame,
\nThere lies a lake (Amsanctus is the name)
\nBelow the lofty mounts: on either side
\nThick forests the forbidden entrance hide.
\nFull in the center of the sacred wood
\nAn arm arises of the Stygian flood,
\nWhich, breaking from beneath with bellowing sound,
\nWhirls the black waves and rattling stones around.
\nHere Pluto pants for breath from out his cell,
\nAnd opens wide the grinning jaws of hell.
\nTo this infernal lake the Fury flies;
\nHere hides her hated head, and frees the lab’ring skies.<\/p>\n
Saturnian Juno now, with double care,
\nAttends the fatal process of the war.
\nThe clowns, return’d, from battle bear the slain,
\nImplore the gods, and to their king complain.
\nThe corps of Almon and the rest are shown;
\nShrieks, clamors, murmurs, fill the frighted town.
\nAmbitious Turnus in the press appears,
\nAnd, aggravating crimes, augments their fears;
\nProclaims his private injuries aloud,
\nA solemn promise made, and disavow’d;
\nA foreign son is sought, and a mix’d mungril brood.
\nThen they, whose mothers, frantic with their fear,
\nIn woods and wilds the flags of Bacchus bear,
\nAnd lead his dances with dishevel’d hair,
\nIncrease the clamor, and the war demand,
\n(Such was Amata’s interest in the land,)
\nAgainst the public sanctions of the peace,
\nAgainst all omens of their ill success.
\nWith fates averse, the rout in arms resort,
\nTo force their monarch, and insult the court.
\nBut, like a rock unmov’d, a rock that braves
\nThe raging tempest and the rising waves-
\nPropp’d on himself he stands; his solid sides
\nWash off the seaweeds, and the sounding tides-
\nSo stood the pious prince, unmov’d, and long
\nSustain’d the madness of the noisy throng.
\nBut, when he found that Juno’s pow’r prevail’d,
\nAnd all the methods of cool counsel fail’d,
\nHe calls the gods to witness their offense,
\nDisclaims the war, asserts his innocence.
\n“Hurried by fate,” he cries, “and borne before
\nA furious wind, we have the faithful shore.
\nO more than madmen! you yourselves shall bear
\nThe guilt of blood and sacrilegious war:
\nThou, Turnus, shalt atone it by thy fate,
\nAnd pray to Heav’n for peace, but pray too late.
\nFor me, my stormy voyage at an end,
\nI to the port of death securely tend.
\nThe fun’ral pomp which to your kings you pay,
\nIs all I want, and all you take away.”
\nHe said no more, but, in his walls confin’d,
\nShut out the woes which he too well divin’d
\nNor with the rising storm would vainly strive,
\nBut left the helm, and let the vessel drive.<\/p>\n
A solemn custom was observ’d of old,
\nWhich Latium held, and now the Romans hold,
\nTheir standard when in fighting fields they rear
\nAgainst the fierce Hyrcanians, or declare
\nThe Scythian, Indian, or Arabian war;
\nOr from the boasting Parthians would regain
\nTheir eagles, lost in Carrhae’s bloody plain.
\nTwo gates of steel (the name of Mars they bear,
\nAnd still are worship’d with religious fear)
\nBefore his temple stand: the dire abode,
\nAnd the fear’d issues of the furious god,
\nAre fenc’d with brazen bolts; without the gates,
\nThe wary guardian Janus doubly waits.
\nThen, when the sacred senate votes the wars,
\nThe Roman consul their decree declares,
\nAnd in his robes the sounding gates unbars.
\nThe youth in military shouts arise,
\nAnd the loud trumpets break the yielding skies.
\nThese rites, of old by sov’reign princes us’d,
\nWere the king’s office; but the king refus’d,
\nDeaf to their cries, nor would the gates unbar
\nOf sacred peace, or loose th’ imprison’d war;
\nBut hid his head, and, safe from loud alarms,
\nAbhorr’d the wicked ministry of arms.
\nThen heav’n’s imperious queen shot down from high:
\nAt her approach the brazen hinges fly;
\nThe gates are forc’d, and ev’ry falling bar;
\nAnd, like a tempest, issues out the war.<\/p>\n
The peaceful cities of th’ Ausonian shore,
\nLull’d in their ease, and undisturb’d before,
\nAre all on fire; and some, with studious care,
\nTheir restiff steeds in sandy plains prepare;
\nSome their soft limbs in painful marches try,
\nAnd war is all their wish, and arms the gen’ral cry.
\nPart scour the rusty shields with seam; and part
\nNew grind the blunted ax, and point the dart:
\nWith joy they view the waving ensigns fly,
\nAnd hear the trumpet’s clangor pierce the sky.
\nFive cities forge their arms: th’ Atinian pow’rs,
\nAntemnae, Tibur with her lofty tow’rs,
\nArdea the proud, the Crustumerian town:
\nAll these of old were places of renown.
\nSome hammer helmets for the fighting field;
\nSome twine young sallows to support the shield;
\nThe croslet some, and some the cuishes mold,
\nWith silver plated, and with ductile gold.
\nThe rustic honors of the scythe and share
\nGive place to swords and plumes, the pride of war.
\nOld fauchions are new temper’d in the fires;
\nThe sounding trumpet ev’ry soul inspires.
\nThe word is giv’n; with eager speed they lace
\nThe shining headpiece, and the shield embrace.
\nThe neighing steeds are to the chariot tied;
\nThe trusty weapon sits on ev’ry side.<\/p>\n
And now the mighty labor is begun
\nYe Muses, open all your Helicon.
\nSing you the chiefs that sway’d th’ Ausonian land,
\nTheir arms, and armies under their command;
\nWhat warriors in our ancient clime were bred;
\nWhat soldiers follow’d, and what heroes led.
\nFor well you know, and can record alone,
\nWhat fame to future times conveys but darkly down.
\nMezentius first appear’d upon the plain:
\nScorn sate upon his brows, and sour disdain,
\nDefying earth and heav’n. Etruria lost,
\nHe brings to Turnus’ aid his baffled host.
\nThe charming Lausus, full of youthful fire,
\nRode in the rank, and next his sullen sire;
\nTo Turnus only second in the grace
\nOf manly mien, and features of the face.
\nA skilful horseman, and a huntsman bred,
\nWith fates averse a thousand men he led:
\nHis sire unworthy of so brave a son;
\nHimself well worthy of a happier throne.<\/p>\n
Next Aventinus drives his chariot round
\nThe Latian plains, with palms and laurels crown’d.
\nProud of his steeds, he smokes along the field;
\nHis father’s hydra fills his ample shield:
\nA hundred serpents hiss about the brims;
\nThe son of Hercules he justly seems
\nBy his broad shoulders and gigantic limbs;
\nOf heav’nly part, and part of earthly blood,
\nA mortal woman mixing with a god.
\nFor strong Alcides, after he had slain
\nThe triple Geryon, drove from conquer’d Spain
\nHis captive herds; and, thence in triumph led,
\nOn Tuscan Tiber’s flow’ry banks they fed.
\nThen on Mount Aventine the son of Jove
\nThe priestess Rhea found, and forc’d to love.
\nFor arms, his men long piles and jav’lins bore;
\nAnd poles with pointed steel their foes in battle gore.
\nLike Hercules himself his son appears,
\nIn salvage pomp; a lion’s hide he wears;
\nAbout his shoulders hangs the shaggy skin;
\nThe teeth and gaping jaws severely grin.
\nThus, like the god his father, homely dress’d,
\nHe strides into the hall, a horrid guest.<\/p>\n
Then two twin brothers from fair Tibur came,
\n(Which from their brother Tiburs took the name,)
\nFierce Coras and Catillus, void of fear:
\nArm’d Argive horse they led, and in the front appear.
\nLike cloud-born Centaurs, from the mountain’s height
\nWith rapid course descending to the fight;
\nThey rush along; the rattling woods give way;
\nThe branches bend before their sweepy sway.<\/p>\n
Nor was Praeneste’s founder wanting there,
\nWhom fame reports the son of Mulciber:
\nFound in the fire, and foster’d in the plains,
\nA shepherd and a king at once he reigns,
\nAnd leads to Turnus’ aid his country swains.
\nHis own Praeneste sends a chosen band,
\nWith those who plow Saturnia’s Gabine land;
\nBesides the succor which cold Anien yields,
\nThe rocks of Hernicus, and dewy fields,
\nAnagnia fat, and Father Amasene-
\nA num’rous rout, but all of naked men:
\nNor arms they wear, nor swords and bucklers wield,
\nNor drive the chariot thro’ the dusty field,
\nBut whirl from leathern slings huge balls of lead,
\nAnd spoils of yellow wolves adorn their head;
\nThe left foot naked, when they march to fight,
\nBut in a bull’s raw hide they sheathe the right.
\nMessapus next, (great Neptune was his sire,)
\nSecure of steel, and fated from the fire,
\nIn pomp appears, and with his ardor warms
\nA heartless train, unexercis’d in arms:
\nThe just Faliscans he to battle brings,
\nAnd those who live where Lake Ciminia springs;
\nAnd where Feronia’s grove and temple stands,
\nWho till Fescennian or Flavinian lands.
\nAll these in order march, and marching sing
\nThe warlike actions of their sea-born king;
\nLike a long team of snowy swans on high,
\nWhich clap their wings, and cleave the liquid sky,
\nWhen, homeward from their wat’ry pastures borne,
\nThey sing, and Asia’s lakes their notes return.
\nNot one who heard their music from afar,
\nWould think these troops an army train’d to war,
\nBut flocks of fowl, that, when the tempests roar,
\nWith their hoarse gabbling seek the silent shore.<\/p>\n
Then Clausus came, who led a num’rous band
\nOf troops embodied from the Sabine land,
\nAnd, in himself alone, an army brought.
\n‘T was he, the noble Claudian race begot,
\nThe Claudian race, ordain’d, in times to come,
\nTo share the greatness of imperial Rome.
\nHe led the Cures forth, of old renown,
\nMutuscans from their olive-bearing town,
\nAnd all th’ Eretian pow’rs; besides a band
\nThat follow’d from Velinum’s dewy land,
\nAnd Amiternian troops, of mighty fame,
\nAnd mountaineers, that from Severus came,
\nAnd from the craggy cliffs of Tetrica,
\nAnd those where yellow Tiber takes his way,
\nAnd where Himella’s wanton waters play.
\nCasperia sends her arms, with those that lie
\nBy Fabaris, and fruitful Foruli:
\nThe warlike aids of Horta next appear,
\nAnd the cold Nursians come to close the rear,
\nMix’d with the natives born of Latine blood,
\nWhom Allia washes with her fatal flood.
\nNot thicker billows beat the Libyan main,
\nWhen pale Orion sets in wintry rain;
\nNor thicker harvests on rich Hermus rise,
\nOr Lycian fields, when Phoebus burns the skies,
\nThan stand these troops: their bucklers ring around;
\nTheir trampling turns the turf, and shakes the solid ground.<\/p>\n
High in his chariot then Halesus came,
\nA foe by birth to Troy’s unhappy name:
\nFrom Agamemnon born- to Turnus’ aid
\nA thousand men the youthful hero led,
\nWho till the Massic soil, for wine renown’d,
\nAnd fierce Auruncans from their hilly ground,
\nAnd those who live by Sidicinian shores,
\nAnd where with shoaly fords Vulturnus roars,
\nCales’ and Osca’s old inhabitants,
\nAnd rough Saticulans, inur’d to wants:
\nLight demi-lances from afar they throw,
\nFasten’d with leathern thongs, to gall the foe.
\nShort crooked swords in closer fight they wear;
\nAnd on their warding arm light bucklers bear.<\/p>\n
Nor Oebalus, shalt thou be left unsung,
\nFrom nymph Semethis and old Telon sprung,
\nWho then in Teleboan Capri reign’d;
\nBut that short isle th’ ambitious youth disdain’d,
\nAnd o’er Campania stretch’d his ample sway,
\nWhere swelling Sarnus seeks the Tyrrhene sea;
\nO’er Batulum, and where Abella sees,
\nFrom her high tow’rs, the harvest of her trees.
\nAnd these (as was the Teuton use of old)
\nWield brazen swords, and brazen bucklers hold;
\nSling weighty stones, when from afar they fight;
\nTheir casques are cork, a covering thick and light.<\/p>\n
Next these in rank, the warlike Ufens went,
\nAnd led the mountain troops that Nursia sent.
\nThe rude Equicolae his rule obey’d;
\nHunting their sport, and plund’ring was their trade.
\nIn arms they plow’d, to battle still prepar’d:
\nTheir soil was barren, and their hearts were hard.<\/p>\n
Umbro the priest the proud Marrubians led,
\nBy King Archippus sent to Turnus’ aid,
\nAnd peaceful olives crown’d his hoary head.
\nHis wand and holy words, the viper’s rage,
\nAnd venom’d wounds of serpents could assuage.
\nHe, when he pleas’d with powerful juice to steep
\nTheir temples, shut their eyes in pleasing sleep.
\nBut vain were Marsian herbs, and magic art,
\nTo cure the wound giv’n by the Dardan dart:
\nYet his untimely fate th’ Angitian woods
\nIn sighs remurmur’d to the Fucine floods.<\/p>\n
The son of fam’d Hippolytus was there,
\nFam’d as his sire, and, as his mother, fair;
\nWhom in Egerian groves Aricia bore,
\nAnd nurs’d his youth along the marshy shore,
\nWhere great Diana’s peaceful altars flame,
\nIn fruitful fields; and Virbius was his name.
\nHippolytus, as old records have said,
\nWas by his stepdam sought to share her bed;
\nBut, when no female arts his mind could move,
\nShe turn’d to furious hate her impious love.
\nTorn by wild horses on the sandy shore,
\nAnother’s crimes th’ unhappy hunter bore,
\nGlutting his father’s eyes with guiltless gore.
\nBut chaste Diana, who his death deplor’d,
\nWith Aesculapian herbs his life restor’d.
\nThen Jove, who saw from high, with just disdain,
\nThe dead inspir’d with vital breath again,
\nStruck to the center, with his flaming dart,
\nTh’ unhappy founder of the godlike art.
\nBut Trivia kept in secret shades alone
\nHer care, Hippolytus, to fate unknown;
\nAnd call’d him Virbius in th’ Egerian grove,
\nWhere then he liv’d obscure, but safe from Jove.
\nFor this, from Trivia’s temple and her wood
\nAre coursers driv’n, who shed their master’s blood,
\nAffrighted by the monsters of the flood.
\nHis son, the second Virbius, yet retain’d
\nHis father’s art, and warrior steeds he rein’d.<\/p>\n
Amid the troops, and like the leading god,
\nHigh o’er the rest in arms the graceful Turnus rode:
\nA triple of plumes his crest adorn’d,
\nOn which with belching flames Chimaera burn’d:
\nThe more the kindled combat rises high’r,
\nThe more with fury burns the blazing fire.
\nFair Io grac’d his shield; but Io now
\nWith horns exalted stands, and seems to low-
\nA noble charge! Her keeper by her side,
\nTo watch her walks, his hundred eyes applied;
\nAnd on the brims her sire, the wat’ry god,
\nRoll’d from a silver urn his crystal flood.
\nA cloud of foot succeeds, and fills the fields
\nWith swords, and pointed spears, and clatt’ring shields;
\nOf Argives, and of old Sicanian bands,
\nAnd those who plow the rich Rutulian lands;
\nAuruncan youth, and those Sacrana yields,
\nAnd the proud Labicans, with painted shields,
\nAnd those who near Numician streams reside,
\nAnd those whom Tiber’s holy forests hide,
\nOr Circe’s hills from the main land divide;
\nWhere Ufens glides along the lowly lands,
\nOr the black water of Pomptina stands.<\/p>\n
Last, from the Volscians fair Camilla came,
\nAnd led her warlike troops, a warrior dame;
\nUnbred to spinning, in the loom unskill’d,
\nShe chose the nobler Pallas of the field.
\nMix’d with the first, the fierce virago fought,
\nSustain’d the toils of arms, the danger sought,
\nOutstripp’d the winds in speed upon the plain,
\nFlew o’er the fields, nor hurt the bearded grain:
\nShe swept the seas, and, as she skimm’d along,
\nHer flying feet unbath’d on billows hung.
\nMen, boys, and women, stupid with surprise,
\nWhere’er she passes, fix their wond’ring eyes:
\nLonging they look, and, gaping at the sight,
\nDevour her o’er and o’er with vast delight;
\nHer purple habit sits with such a grace
\nOn her smooth shoulders, and so suits her face;
\nHer head with ringlets of her hair is crown’d,
\nAnd in a golden caul the curls are bound.
\nShe shakes her myrtle jav’lin; and, behind,
\nHer Lycian quiver dances in the wind.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":19,"menu_order":7,"template":"","meta":{"_candela_citation":"[]","CANDELA_OUTCOMES_GUID":"","pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":[],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[],"contributor":[],"license":[],"class_list":["post-117","chapter","type-chapter","status-web-only","hentry"],"part":110,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/117","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/chapter"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/19"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/117\/revisions"}],"part":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/parts\/110"}],"metadata":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/117\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=117"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=117"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=117"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=117"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}